Worlds Meet, Perchance to Dance?
by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

In the heat of summer
windows are closed early morning,
drapes are pulled together
to consummate their marriage,
inside is cool, dark, gothic
gloom, that even the ghosts abandon.

I grab my notebook and pen,
my book and iced coffee
leave the gloom, sit at the table
in my most favorite room
ever–the covered patio.
Birds and insects sing

arias, rival La Divina Callas,
for my ears alone. I enter civilized
jungle close, sandy desert
beyond, then jagged mountains
that gouge the bottom sky–
worlds of reality, worlds of fantasy.


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