Best case scenario
At second glance the leaves are bright green
and the dog is asleep. The omelette slides
from the pan intact. No one we know
serves us tea. It is sweet. It tastes faintly
exotic but also sad, like the jasmine blossoms
wilting in our hair. High, high above,
clouds grind light into dust-motes.
Because we have not died yet of hope,
nor its opposite, we remain here among
these creaturely feelings, indentured
to the small brown birds that will not
light on our hair. So be it. Our shadows
on the grass may be luckier, although
their fate is such that they won’t know it.