i switch bed sides and twisted sleeping angles to bring back dreams of visitations as a necessary approach to threshold. the dream of an old friend, now gone, standing and staring confused outside my neighbor’s window was a good entrance point. the dream ended within the two of us crossing over the threshold and entering through the doorway of my home, but in my waking life i never actually entered, but rather subconsciously created many reasons, events, diversions to keep me from doing what i actually planned to do in the dream: make him a cup of coffee and sit with him at my kitchen table, under a worn wooden shelf that cradles a mole skull, and ask him every question i could imagine. the mole skull is in the kitchen because that’s where it belongs. a reminder that what’s delicate rests hidden underneath, in eyeshot of the front door, the only entrance to my apartment.