Fantasy

the good day — this is
a dapple of — sidewalks
and walks around the conspiracy
of corners — and trees snipping
away at horizons — Cabernet
lipped bus doors opening and
the mind outdoors walking —
this good day when rain is
a rivulet in another country —
the country of retired  devices
like money and pecking —
order in the forgotten
consonants of bed sheets
strewn asunder like rocks and
favours — this is a good day
when fragile cloud carousels
cavort with time enough —
time like footsteps and fingerprints
and raised eyebrows — time
enough to click your heels
three times — time enough
to return — time enough to
rearrange the furniture of
conversations and events
until the only room you
recall well you don’t —
time enough to move along.