Suppose we were a dream;
suppose the subtle incarnations of pseudo-reality
were just that, horses grazing on an incarnate field of
blue colored clouds like crayon boxes left empty
in a sandbox
when it was raining.
that this is just what we were looking for, as if
wedding bands were eternal
and heaven is real; there is no need to stop and count
snowflakes in Idyllwild because
it never snows in New Orleans anyway.
Just for a moment, imagine that
we are together forever
and forever has already come and gone
and we are ashes in the ethereal moonbeams
Deep and provocative,
think of her hollows and holocausts
and the conflagration of her soul
as if, as if she were ever just
and perhaps a slice
of buttered toast on Sunday afternoons.