Reverie

Sometimes
when I close my eyes and I drift off
to that faraway place I dream of
white silk and blue satin,

of horses,
of champagne flutes teetering on haystacks,
and photographs in sun-streaked autumn.

Of slobbery dog kisses and
the need for front-wheel drive and riding lawnmowers.

And fresh, wet earth and cool, clean air,
And more than enough space to think.

Sometimes,
when I close my eyes and I drift off
to that faraway place I dream of
baby‘s breath and honeysuckle,

of sunlight and rain,
fall and spring,
and grinning until my cheeks hurt.

Mostly though, it seems
I dream of dreams.