I lean back in my chair, sigh and yawn.
Evening is approaching, we love it.
The fish in the tank are hopeful —
it’s nearly time for their next meal.
The book I’ve been reading lies splayed open
on my chest, all the lovely words forming
a blanket of paper peace upon me.
The little dog in my lap is breathing softly.
I can feel her dreams coursing through her
tiny body, but they are big dreams.
She is running up a grassy hill. How do I know?
I am running with her, oh we are happy —
let’s get the ball, let’s get the ball!
We all appear in many places simultaneously,
only the sad ideas we feed on weigh us down
and anchor us to to the story of solidity.
The little dog in my lap has no sad ideas . . .
well, maybe one: she sees us in a vision, we are
wearing blindfolds, walking on a tightrope.
In her vision, we are carrying bulging bags laden
with quotes from dead people, and we are teetering.
From her expression, she appears to be a bit worried.
Don’t worry, my little Friend, even if we should fall,
there is still no place in this dream to land.