Sometimes if I tilt my head
back, with closed eyes, and let
the breeze pat me down,
while my concealed eyes gaze
at the bright pink bulb
of the sun somewhere above me-
sometimes, I slip beneath a spell
and my fully awake brain
cozies-up in the very familiar
quilt of a dream-
a dream that is unlike those
of a night's sleep,
foreign to a bed or even
a park bench,
a dream that lies not within
the past or future
or the realms of absurd
surrealism-
but instead a dream about
what is around me
at that moment-
everything unseen in its place,
faces I don't know remain
belonging to complete strangers
and the bus screeching to a halt
inches from my sandals
honks in panic at no one else
but me.