This isn’t real,
Where river meets ocean
And mold grows wild-fire slick
On anything with a name.

Me and Keefer,
Like two ships
Parallel-gliding through forests
Whose trees whisper secrets
Leaf to leaf,
Hushed below the screaming layers.

This isn’t real.

Waking up to the seal-song-sounds
Along the unused railway,
Agate lined banks
Poking into unused flesh;

The rain humming
That one note
Above the television buzz
And all that cardboard.

This can’t be real -

It’s only where I live.

12/26/2010

Author's Note: We gypsies get around. Keefer is my dog.

Posted on 12/26/2010
Copyright © 2026 Alison McKenzie