Seven then six time zones away, imagine
The books to be published with puce + powder
Blue surrounds, six hours only a quarter
Of the world and so much grayer.
This is a poem started at 4:49 AM
On a bus to the airport, the day after
The destination time of Back to the Future.
With her ladybug and plants she is
A longevity of love and by the sound
Of the bath water as you dip your face
You can tell if the visage is getting smaller
Or wider (oh age, oh words without music).
A couple silver rings, why not, American
Sniper played repeatedly on the plane
As you anticipate talk of money and the kid
With dreads in Chicago airport lets you slide
On seven pennies, thanks, appreciate it.
Watch the squirrel play outside the window
As if lit by a gorgeous peach strobe and
Before a snack of raspberry macarons
Make your list of things to do today.
Many need a list of things to do every day,
But the boy sitting on the train with a goat
In his lap does not, and on Tuesday
When you return to repair the stilts house
On a lake in the Südtirol, you will contemplate
The beguiling expression of that maneki-neko
In Sans Soleil, the next gift for your mother.