Dream Poem 100: Through the X of Pinking Shears

Scissors in the kitchen.
Long arms
Spider fingers
Table full of possibility
Popping and bursting with ideas and plans.

In my hand a pair of pinking shears
Their serrated edges
Waiting to decorate
An edge
With a row of miniature mountains
Or a factory roof.

The scissors X
Is a gateway
Crawl through
only slightly hazardous
Just avoid the sharp blades like Indiana Jones.

But once through
A whole world of pink rivers
Purple sunsets, golden mountains, green lakes and blue grass.

The sound of cicadas
Not too loud
My hammock and a sweet iced tea in my hand.

It is a high hammock
So my feet don’t touch the ground
There is a breeze
Sweet with magnolia blossom and grass

My eyes close in the warmth of evening.

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