Email Poem

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Poem

Peter Pan the morning
Pulling blue lint out of ears
long accustomed just to hear
the surface of the mirror sounds around them
Brush the hair with golden teeth
by it's roots and underneath
Crystal eyes are silver dull in need of shining
Make a tent with your hands
and the blanket on your bed
as a cave, to be dug for certain treasures
Maybe marbles from the sea
abalone underneath
while I dig the earth for pockets full of thunder
In the pages of the day
specked with rain and mottled grey
we are the match of snap imagination
Come with me, take my hand
leave your shoes right where you stand
as we fly to minty skies and constellations.

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