Daydream

Is fancy better?

but wouldn’t trace that belly…

warm like hotcakes and sunny holidays

but real is brusque,

fades like old teacloth;

still, those eyes though…

could that laugh really

not be,

yes but no word-hoard wit,

and no surfboard so how?

but sand in truck

and backseat shepherd dog 

and kiss on cheek

lovely purple afternoon,

and that sea-shell bracelet

seven years now

blue-moon wonder,

bath-wet, firepit, blankets, in-joke, kafka-cat

cutlery call,

waist-arm circle,

and that dress: sheesh,

So yes this dream-love

lost now says yes, like photograph

blooming into pure colour.