Cloudland

After having walked miles with the Night
to let the dew soak into her pores, 
her secret small self 
peeked out of her misty sleepiness,
reaching with little hands 
to try and catch the memory wisps,
those sneaky little swirls in the Cloudland
that mix the shells of her old asides
with the now-feelings of 
periwinkle, cadet blue, 
a little bit of almond and razzmatazz, 
perhaps even a dash of mauvelous --
the small one that was fearful smiles 
and wiggles into the warm thought-space 
of these now-feelings, 
cupping the bright ribbons
shot through with 
happy bursts of surprise kisses, 
the threads of a new paisley pattern,
something beautiful like Sylvia Plath;
"This is the evening's entertainment,"
she remembers her mom whispering,
so she burrows into the quiet, cool darkness
of the fog illuminated by a single streetlamp
and reads the messages 
in the strings of random letters 
on the postcards
she found littered on the ground.

blur

in the violet cotton dress,

I watched you fly around the corner,

blurring as you disappeared

into the North End maze,

or perhaps a West Village side street,

maybe Greenwhich Ave where

I shared a Bisteca

with oyster mushrooms

and a semi-froid mousse

with 4 strawberries --

perfect for splitting.

four white walls outlining

a home but not,

I pushed up against a moment

of resistance repeatedly jamming

a key into a hole

that refused to transform

into an Alice lock --

I looked for the potion

but couldn’t discover the fantasy

crossing his lips like a whisper,

the ghosts of the beautiful, silken lies

I so loved to believe,

and despite the unreality,

was again caught in his spider web

until my breath was squeezed right out

and I was left gasping

for the promise,

only the shell of my body left,

the insides sucked dry --

repeated patterns of false hope.