Deep in the nonsense place for an afternoon

There’s a pile of pillows and blankets
on the floor by the sofa.
The cup of tea is almost empty.
Leaves are blowing across the yard
as the sky seems to be trying out
different colors as night closes in.
The book sits on my lap
as I daydream for long Sunday minutes.
Fields, castles, thunderstorms, flowers,
all spin together, an intricate nonsense,
a place I can disappear to whenever,
as I spin, with no particular direction.
I remember things, some of which
have actually happened, and I can see
a lot of what could be, as if I can open
my curled-up hands and a dream
will fall out, complete and satisfying.