From my childhood,
one dream remains,
the one where I stood
at the basement door,

and there below me
as I trod the steps down,
a great glowing chessboard
and the huge silent pieces

gliding on their errands,
taking, being taken,
a dance of kings and courtiers,
queens and bloodless slaughter.

I descended to join them,
footless in sleep,and as 
I passed the bottom step, 
cold terror froze me to my square

as the grim slit-visored
bishop slid towards me
with terrible intent--
but then I awoke shouting, safe.

Yet nowadays I realize
that it wasn't quite game
for me to escape mate thus
by flipping the dreamboard.