[Pretending to be Transparent] April 21, 2008

The dream was in my pocket
scribbled with red ink
never to be erased.

Now fireflies in your blue eyes are like kaleidoscopes-
and even in the shadows of this giant oak tree
serendipitous light clings to you like static,
except closer and excessively copasetic.

I am holding my breath.
You are reaching in my pocket.
We have become opaque.