Rain on petals
deepens the color
like a glaze on pottery
like a world seen through glass.
Cartoon foxes fly
over the ocean, wearing
sunglasses on their long muzzles.
Their ears are big and could easily hold a mask.
Cars drive up to Doric columns.
Suits get out but no longer shake hands.
Maybe we could return to togas now; why not?
I remember how Roberto made the car swoop
to Strauss waltzes on the freeway.
“They don’t work without dancing,” he said.
Banksy, they say, is now tagging
his bathroom with climbing, dancing rats.
The yard is full of worms.
The robins face no unemployment.
“Stay safe and well!” now closes
every email, even the most mundane.
Maybe we could find a unicorn. His horn
will unpoison Flint water, cure us all of our disease.
“Goodnight, Moon!” we read to the children.
To see the Moon we need a vantage point, like Earth.
Outside we walk on broken glass.
Our ears ring with unheard cries.
We fear dementia, but in the end maybe
it’s easy, like freezing to death, a warmth and a sleep.
All the years we shivered with signs on the Capitol steps.
And yet here we are. Siamo qui. Here we still are.
