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.