an ordinary nursery by any account

a flat of woolly thyme, my purchase

the clerk smiled strangely

perhaps I was the shopping cart snatcher


walking down the sidewalk I noticed

a second story below the flat

holding up the woolly thyme like a tree house

 section of a camphor tree

with rotted knotholes

hollow inside

crenulated bark, crustacean scalloped


for a squirrel

whose bright eyes blinked playfully at me


we walked together

talking of sealing wax and sailing ships

bright eyes laughing through first one knothole

then another


then my wife:

oh, you didn't really go to the nursery

it was a dream


with a foot in each world

I said:

what's the difference?