i see london, i see france,
i see moonbeams disco dance.
some hear sea and waves.
but for me, my friends, the seashells, spin tales and sagas on par with atwood and irving.
on any day a magazine moose becomes my afternoon confident.
how is he the only one so far who understands?
we later go for a bike ride in the andes.
each morning my lushy, warm backyard awakens like a wave unfurls:
piece by piece its heartbeat rouses and grows stronger; the beast and i make our rounds to our pals, the flowers, bugs and trees, offering them coffee and croissants.
my tub, my fortress in the forest of fairies, conceals me from the dragons and ogres wanted me to drink the local witch’s
hidden and safe, i stop up leaks of doubt and floods of fear. my hoover dam is a conscience clear and an open heart.
beast by my side, petals lapping in rosy unison round the basin, candles flickering in time to the peaceful ballet of the nighttime nymphs who prepare the house for sleep.
fairy tales do come true.
my evening crew takes watch. keeping vigil over a bedtime that is all too often elusive and full of fret.
drowsy drunk on the night jasmine piping up through the bedroom window, my bumble bee brain begins to slow down.
i can hear the footsteps of mr. sandman. off to dreamland i go….let the true fantasies begin.
you may say i’m a dreamer….i hope someday you’ll join me.