the brown leaves blew from the doorway,
into a bowl,
and the green carpeted walls
of the elevator
they crept upon,
like small, baby
trespassing corn flakes
infiltrating a new box.
A continental breakfast
reservation for autumn.
Dream of dull lights flickering on a train,
a greeting card with a candle flame,
and for some reason – Orson Welles.
Morning or noon.
After missing an appointment with a duelling cowboy,
who is left to wonder and cast his shadow
to reach a cactus on a windowsill,
his hat, neither white nor black,
his blank-faced watch on his wrist.
Bunny rabbits looking through
glass panels of the ground floor foyer.
Someone said “you need a Twin”
I could get used to this luxury, and do.
After an exhausting swim,
dream about swimming in milk.