Fairy Tale, with Dreamscapes and Moonlight

A chance at success, a propitious ending—
What I wish for, not necessarily called happiness.
Give me rather a quiet house where daughters sit
braiding each other's hair, reading to each other.

What I wish for might not look like happiness.
Under the moonlight, ruins look like dreamscapes
where girls with braided hair feed each other fruit.
What I mean to say is there's no space fully empty.

In  moonlight, ruins look like dreamscapes—
how tempting to wash them only in cold, blue light.
What I mean to say is, look closely at empty space:
the wisps of feeling there, the fragments of selves.

How tempting to think we can only be blue or live in the cold.
The days fill and empty, empty and fill. Doors open and close.
But everywhere are wisps of feeling, fragments of selves.
I wish we all lived under the same roof: forgiven, forgiving.

The days fill and empty, empty and fill. Doors close and open.
Should we always be asking Am I happy? Are you happy? Are we? 
Yet I wish we lived under the same roof, forgiving, forgiven.
That kind of success, that kind of propitious ending—