Alphabet City

Eyes grow heavy, my mind wanders to the edge
of that time when white lace curtains blew
on a gentle breeze, I step out the door, a porch
suspended on the edge of a cloud for a portico
crunchy like snow, the others dive, I’m game but
such a long way down, instead I hesitate
missing them as they leap one by one,
I run after the small lost dog and slip on the mud
that the snow has become, I surf while she watches
not falling but staining the back of my pants
in a low crouch, the other says that’s the song
and I say that’s the same one you asked about yesterday,
that’s what’s-her-name, and in the dream I tell her
that I dreamed about her, already wrapped up beyond
and tangled in the fray.

© Chagall 2015