The daydream crackles and turns,
shutters glass, plates,
translucent ideas, they are eerie
through his window panes
rays, truth, memorable demons
tend to occupy empty space, befriend the
morning and play games with the hollow tree.
There is something inside, he lies
and speaks of motion and sporadic instances
of joy, burst and unfettered smiles, in
spoken words, one finds the same,
sometimes a shore and other times
a narrow island by way of a lake
we once knew together.
Why weep at lost opportunities, islands,
isolated beauties, my bird’s eye view,
once, just once, turn back toward the wood,
the crackle of leaves underfoot, a shadow
and a face, meet the hollow tree we all know there is life inside.