House on an Unlit Street (Poetry)

This is the house I might have lived in -
it gives nothing away -
its square brick solidness allows
no streetlamp to invade,
no hint of ownership
where bushes spread and a gravel path
lies undisturbed in semi-darkness
while I slowly walk on by.

But I sense the rooms beyond that door -
the hallway and the stair
that creaks - the way my shadow's lost,
hung thin on too-dark walls,
and hear my short breath bouncing fast,
punctuating air that was unmoved
until I dreamed a way back through
its dust-locked stillness.

It is a night-house - never seen by day -
and rain seduces, petting charcoal tiles,
singing gutter songs
that no one else can hear -
this could be my house
although I have no key
only a half-memory to haunt me -
the notion I belong.