there is stillness.
You dropped a bag of lemons,
and the wind of early morning kept the door flung open
as they rolled out on the porch.
My eyes are closed again,
but it makes no difference
in that this is the closest we’ll ever get
to Madison Square Garden,
and I realize my legs don’t ache so much
when I can’t see them.
In the back of my head,
it doesn’t seem so bad that my left eye
is going quicker than I thought possible.
“Ready for the grand reveal?” you say,
as I remember that I can open my eyes
and waking up is some incredible form of
a dream paradoxical, a dream within a dream,
or whatever they like to call it.
The sky is a paler shade of blue than I remember,
but the days pass by just the same,
and the greens are just as green.
The dog wanders in,
Homebound, in a way.
Apple pie and homemade lemon iced tea.
And just when I thought I’d seen everything
there is to see,
here it is.