Peel the disappointed world
back to its precursor—a child’s
town of bright primaries, streets
where the sun finds no impediment
and the wind none richer,
none poorer. No one suffers
or dies there—not even one
invisible dog sniffing the blue
salt air. The boats in the harbor,
the phone poles, the hills
and the houses all speak
a language before language,
that tuneful hum above
the shapes in a board-book.
There even shadows hesitate
to fall, mother nowhere
in sight, the afternoon lazy
and long.