Peter and Wendy and
Michael and John
have the sweetest of all sweet luck.
kiss an everlasting sky,
a thousand anxious ghosts
like a thousand forgotten hats.
I’m in their wake,
Peter and Susan and
Edmund and Lucy
found the holiest of all holy lands.
along glittering snow,
a million regal lifetimes
as a million grandfather clocks refuse to strike.
I’m behind the door,
she is awarded the grandest of parties,
the most magnificent of ceremonies!
She was swept along a singing breeze,
deposited like a
delicate daffodil bulb.
exist in the dullest of worlds,
my words settle in moments
a hundred lives
through a hundred memories.
They’re ahead of me, with
their fairy dust, their Turkish delight, their afternoon tea.