today, tonight

I awaken to a world of
familiar surprises and
sacred rituals.
Here, in this place,
time is not Time, but
the continuous smelling of
fresh-cut flowers on the kitchen table.
Poetry is our menu and
dancing is our trip,
strolling down each aisle
looking for tortillas, apples, chilies.
Sleep and wake are not defined, but
merged thoughts co-existing
with the fruits and vegetables.
Addicted to these feelings,
we prolong this world and
make it our own.
We cannot waste what is not real, and
today, tonight,
is a surreal expression of weeks past.