It’s always the sidewalk with the fence

alongside, draped with green things

and beautiful flowers

I’m not really worthy to see.

I want to touch, to bring the blessing

to my heart, but there’s a moral line

and I’m usually on the wrong side,

so I leave beauty alone and follow ruin.

It’s the honeysuckle and sunshine

with shadowy sins between the stems

and I’m not sure which

draws me closer.

Sasquatch picked his teeth

with the raw milk sign

– it was very rebel-without-a-cause

Pickets were peeling

white flecks like summer snow

while phantom footsteps lurched

toward the lake road

I twisted the apple stem as hard as I could

to make the letters of your name

because my chin wouldn’t turn yellow

and I didn’t want to dismember a daisy

A lavender leviathan ate the day

so we chased clouds until sunset,

at least in my dream

He read aloud gently, balancing on one leg

then another with his plumed pen

held aloft.

A giant walked behind the pavilion

in a hunt for food to throw on the fire,

“Omega” tattooed on his Buddha belly

and thick glasses steaming in the dusk.

Mermaids dallied by waters edge

bobbing for bits of bread.

Smoke spiraled slowly through sticky air

and yellow flowers folded themselves up

as sun slipped away.

He put down the wrench

and fancied a dance

but only a virtual one,

so it was a mental jig

to a snappy Dean Martin tune

(“Powder your face with sunshine…”).

He made notes

of what he saw:

lizards, flowers, chrome.

He always had a song

running in the background

(“Whistle a tune of gladness…”).

He kept the most holy notes

in his pocket:

her back, petals, home.

Only a little push now and then

to keep the spin alive.

A thrill of contentment

with the fan pushing the cool green air

all around the dusky room,

a book resting on a lap, a shift in a chair…

it seems years since bones were supple,

the psyche didn’t ache,

and that was the last time

a particular thrill held sway.