You taught us human beings to sing
over puddles so beautiful,
and showed us lost souls
how to be whole
while the world
fell apart.

You introduced a drug,
purple and chimerical;
intoxicated my way
and saved the stars
before the sun rose.

An escape so rare
and Poetically inclined,
deep in your zone
where even the mosquitoes
hold no annoyance;
you’ve given me the moon
and pointed out
why we love it.

Now I return
the gift of escape
from darkness so bleak;
flip on the switch
so that you will wake.

I swear you just winked
in your hospital bed
up in the moon’s eye,
where Poetry is dreamt,
like you’re having us all on
as you are wont to do
from time to time,
and all those other times
in between.

I return the wink
with the doc’s back
facing toward us
and we try to suppress
our giggles,
lest our cover be blown.

And once we are alone,
I bring out the wheelchair
and bribe our way
to an early checkout.

No one notices
because no one can,
as I push you out the doors
and into the backseat
of our getaway car,
climbing in beside you
and closing the door;
the car tearing off to raise hell,
with Nod behind the wheel,
the Narrator riding shotgun,
Tiny Dancer on the dashboard,
and a little piece of heaven
blaring out the speakers:

we’ve escaped.

The first time we talked
you were already dead.

The last time we talked
you were more alive than ever.

Now we talk today
and you’re sound asleep.

So when we talk tomorrow
you’ll be wide awake.