It’s dusty, this almanac of dreams.
Yellowed pages crinkle under the weight of
shape shifters swords
and seraphim inhabit the same page
before unicorns but long after
castles and labyrinths.
Spring grass against our warm bodies,
see my daydream dance before the world.
My mother morphs into my lost dog
then just his tail remains which sticks to
the letter A, making it A-tail.
Book of liminality it taunts us unreachable
from a cloudless canvas.
Nothing to be written on blue skies
devoid of white ink
missing dancing hippos and princesses cavorting
until the fairy dust again returns,
creating new pages in a compendium of better worlds.
Kate Burrows, New Jersey, USA