Sat for three days in a white room 
a tiny truck of white flowers 
was driving through the empty window
to warn off your neighbors 
and their miniature flashlights.

by afternoon 
across the lake 
a blind sportsman had lost his canoe. 
He swam, 
by evening 
toward the paper cup 
of my hand.

At dawn, 
clever housewives tow my Dutch kitchen 
across the lawn. 
and in the mail a tiny circus 
filled with ponies 
had arrived.

a woman with feathers 
have come so often lately 
under my rubber veranda, 
that I’m tearing apart all those tactless warnings 
embroidered across your forehead.

I’m beginning to see those sounds 
that I never even thought 
I would hear.