Keegan Lester
2052 Lincoln Park West
For T. M.
egrets & wasps.
on the couch pretending
snow, you like to sleep.
the wind: displacing
your body shape.
you like to sleep listening: who thought to
make this the measuring stick
makes us pine the duplicity of lives
lived versus lives shown
wind between two buildings
squeezing snow dreamy into the park
& then lake & running
as if twenty-year-olds onto a football field,
the slate clean of stars.
toward whatever exists on.
toward the other side of the body
of water, far from
the horned buildings & the stadium power:
the amalgamation of 70,000 people's magic
realism on the television set.
you twist
far from the blinking eye-
lids & store fronts.
you’re an argyle wire fence
& curled up
at the bottom
you let impossible sneak
in & manifest
destiny outward
as the Gulf of Mexico is also someone
else’s sleep & further
someone else’s wake.
each twinkle twinkle little
superfluous shadow growing
across the map of your face.
