Oh

how I'd love

to travel

to a far-off world of nothingness

where the sky is forever sapphire

and the grass is infinitely emerald.

and scented candles

weave through old books and the legs of antique chairs.

and grazing in the fields behind

the rickety barn

is the Pegasus

wings like music, soft and sweet

like marshmallow kisses on a wednesday morning in august

and biting at my ankles are

the blades of grass in need of mowing

but no one cares for it,

they are preoccupied

by picnics on the eighth day

of the week under the trees in the apple orchard

where ham and cheese never tasted so divine

fluttering are the monarch's wings

stirring the glittering air

into the whirlwinds of excitement

where the tiny larva of insight

nests itself.

and that world is right on the other side of my mirror.