The flying foxes quirk their ears,

bush their brilliant burning tails,

canine faces

grinning red in the night sky,

delicate webbed fingers holding

them aloft.

And in the sky-sea the

singing-whales swim, gracefully

arching their immense blue backs

among the clouds,

their deep, resonating sorrows

spangling the stars.

Castles float upon porous stone,

drifting casually over their moon, their

upturned windmills rotating slowly,

anchored to the foundations of

pink stone. The windows seem to glow

from afar—with green light.

This is an impossible-place, a

night-sky land, teasing zephyrs

licking secrets into your ears,

the solid mahogany embrace

of brother and sky

comes home.