the rattle of a lost soul pushing his buggy outside

goes by

i lie on a matress mind perked up

staring with eyes shut wide

wind howls by a hollow tree
inside sit three squirrels and tea
and for dessert a toppling cake
of creme and wild berries

the trees all stand in rows like teeth
their roots surpassing much beneath
all night their arms will groan and creak

one squirrel withdraws
and smiles from within
if every night could have like this been