In the magic undercroft of my dreams,
a central temple room lined with
white fluted columns, recessed panels
of dark night sky dotted with stars between.
Above, a pale reflected light illumines
the open surround.
And Jesus walks through, in a dark night-blue gown,
with crown of thorns. Slender and hidden of face.
He simply walks across the space of my dream
room, and out through one of the panels
which is a door.
The image still haunts me. There in my cellar
Jesus walks through without a word
and on out to whatever lies beyond
the hidden secret doors.