A Complete Loss

This morning, I was pushed into dreaming.

A Complete Loss

This morning,
little was accomplished.

The books slid off their shelves,
and, like butterflies,
fluttered about the house,
dropping words that inched
over the floors as green worms
inch across oak leaves
reaching like hands
from crooked limbs.

The trolls that thicken the air
beneath the children’s beds
with gurgles and snores
have crept to the basement,
between brick walls,
to a darkness that reminds each
of nights spent singing beneath
old stone bridges.

Silver fairies filch flower stems
from the vases in the living room
to wield as spears against the gnomes,
that rise from the garden,
capped in hats
fashioned from acorn shells
and marigold petals,
to battle for that magic water
that sparks from the birdbath
as it is graced by a sparrow’s
frenzied flutter.

Nothing was accomplished,
nothing at all.

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