the dress over the striped shirt
and dreams right above her bangs—
she’s going out tonight.
in that dress, she’s a dancer;
among dreamers she commutes
between worlds without bridges,
just horizons coming through.
she dangles her feet during the break,
toes naked, huckleberry-esque;
although, she does not mind the difference
between her and you and you,
just how quickly those tunes disappear
outside the fogged up glass.
she needs no costume and no stage—
again much like Twain’s boys—
but goes away before it’s done
to surely return next time.