My Shower Dream

the world makes art of time
in the old houses.

air pulls at bits of wallpaper and paint
and cushions them with years. 

prying them apart
like the petals of a young flower
in bloom - 

dandelion spores float through open windows-
the light touches their pieces as they spin-

white like an angels eyelashes 
when sunrise hits
on the shore of a still blue lake
at dawn

a sheet of glass hovering over lough gur-

the chapel bell strikes
water glasses on bedside tables in cabins shiver 
 
she runs through the tall grass,
a cashmere breeze lapping at reeds 
all khakis and purple flowers-
down the small hill

the window in the dark
in the rain.

the field in the fog
in the rain.

be careful out there
don't go out alone-

I want to pound at his chest with my fists
as hard as I can
but they bounce back with a terrible metal pop
like the air in a jar getting sucked out when you open the lid-
It makes me feel ill.

Marcie's perfect eyes
sparkling like the ice of an electric blue popsicle
on the dock -

legs so smooth
skin like frosting
baking in the sun

sprinkle hot sand on her back
softly blow it away-

all of their nightgowns are still out to dry-
pale muted colors-
sifting through slow gusts of wind