A Perfect Couplet

Today I had the most pleasant of daydreams,

a new one, and everything—being called home

to places I’ve never been, first moments like memories,

my dreamworld full of people in wide open spaces—

snapped into place like those plastic lids my sister has

closing on all four sides, keeping leftovers

safe from the stalemate air. But it was a daydream,

an echolocating call from the rumble

of washing machine chaos, one of countless

dimensions that can’t happen, won’t happen,

hasn’t happened here yet. I want to believe in it

as much, no, more than I trust this one,

to hold that the volta of my life is about to turn

and a perfect couplet reveal and resolve itself.



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