Dream Palace

Just a short time ago--
when some sliver of sun still
gleamed golden above the valley--
the frisbee golfers had played here, with
lawnchairs and hulahoops and beach umbrellas
to serve as holes on their course.
(One modern mystic smiled, delighted
as people played a game with solid holes.)

Now, as shadows fill the bowl of the valley
like ink dripped into water,
a palace sits where no palace sat before,
embellished with spindly spires and crystal casements.

Chalk this one up (again)
to the sorcerers of Sheboygan.

When Jocasta's invitations found their way
to their towers, the boys took on
the extracurricular mission of
whipping up a party crib,
with copious help from Jocasta's protégées.
Reams and rolls of paper
blushed with color as they wore away
kilometers of crayon, one decimeter at a time,
scribbling out their dreams
of salons and boudoirs,
of hidey-holes and rumpus rooms,
of secret passages and hidden panels.

Come into the palace, where time and text are fluid
and the mundane graces, Jocasta's collaborators,
hover near the hearth in the foyer
to greet their guests. Blarney and banter
duly distributed, they swing open the doors
revealing a long hallway
with classical statuary ranked in recesses
converging at the vanishing point
of a vast double doorway
which opens into the ballroom.

From the ballroom, a door can lead anywhere.
Be careful what you wish for.