Whenever my mind is spinning, spinning like an unruly kite
I reel it in, god bless my soul, with online shopping.
Window shopping, I should say, through the window
of my trusted web browser, browsing but never buying,
finding thrill, in fact, in letting the possibility hang in the air
like an almighty question mark expelled from the butt end of an airplane.
Lightheaded with reviews, floating
through fabric compositions full of animal and plastic.
How would the 58% alpaca, 34% nylon, 8% merino wool sit
against the skin of my arms I’ve raked with my own fingernails?
Holding the real thing between my fingers would break the spell. I prefer
my daydreams digital. Soaring in their intangibility like god and hope and forgiveness.
If you ever find me asking for a hug, some physical comfort, remind me instead
of the exhilaration of woolgathering, the value of daydreaming about a cashmere scarf,
its gossamer simply speculated around my strained neck, an imagined ecstasy
far greater without the disappointment of a touched reality.
Alice asks if, lately, I am feeling a little blue, and I tell her yes,
some powder blue lace socks, an azure blue mushroom lamp,
dimmable, cordless, USB powered, rechargeable, with the three color modes.
After all, it is my favorite color. But please don’t make gifts of these.
I’ve received all I need from the yearning. Don’t you know how much there is
to be had in the not-having? For years, I was chasing after happiness like running
after a bus I’d missed, only to realize that the exuberance itself lived
in that pumping of legs, the breathlessness, the sweet slipping from one’s grasp.