Nocturne

At night, the windows in our house
become mirrors, as if to say
 
what happens here will keep on happening.
 
I press my face to the glass
and see
black trees, black sky, the moon like a pocket
 
turned inside out.
 
Below, I hear
a howl, which means our mother is dreaming
with her eyes open
 
again. I don’t go downstairs after dark
 
but sometimes
I talk to God from my bedroom.
 
His voice sounds
like pink and blue buds opening inside of me,
like singing bruises.