I had a dream you bought a new wagon,
red and sleek, Radio Flyer in white
across the side.
I filled it with flowers, ran it across prairie hills,
zigzagged between bison and Indians,
and cowboys leaning on saddle horns.
I floated on pea-green rivers—
fish silhouetted in mushroom blue—
and off into the sea,
where waves sparked and shone
in shark phosphor and coral spike.
I woke, wheels a-squeak in prairie grass,
I pulled into sunset and down into a valley,
basement dark and dank.
Behind, wildflowers glowed
between the tracks of my Radio Flyer,
a map of the way back to you.
