I want you to be happy
At the times that you leave
Your hat. Therefore, the inner tube
Sleeps sounder on torn sheets,
The angels of clear water
Know the underside of your feet,
The elf and her sister grieve
For comedy is not for tourists
With their shorts on backwards
Least of all. There is a land
Laced with thin streams that sparkle
Down the back between the wings.
Buildings can have myths of flight:
A pot of milk so wee
We see the thoughts of peers
Disappear on the screen of a face
And all the places fade in glee.
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