Worlds

What you see,
in this world that you experience in
the physical form,
the one you distilled into physics
and charted with mathematics,
is as much true
as is the world you conjure
through your synapses.

What you imagine,
the cerulean waves barging
into tan stubborn shore,
the violet dragon that secretly
desires a salt caramel apple,
the silent knight who
escaped from a supermarket;
the man in floral shirt intently
reading his friend's memoir,
the friend who wrote fantasy
and wove magical worlds;
the fuchsia girl at the corner
of a coffee shop admiring
the crowd and the paintings
on the wall;
the sodium peach light
that graces asphalt, brick and magnolia,
the cyber neon connections
between a nebula and a city-planet;
the strawberry matcha stew and
a cup of pistachio lavender,
three eyed llamas riding a giant turtle
and a water tribe near your
unruly gas giant;
the intergalactic supercomputer that
suspends as cosmic dark energy,
and the seven dwarves
of the London underground.

What you fear,
the new neighbors with a
different skin tone,
the collapsed Nasdaq that
turns back green a week later anyways;
your forever loved deep brown eyes
who simply cannot recognize you anymore,
the road crash, the leftover debris
on your everyday highway
and in low earth orbit;
second, third and fourth world wars;
accidentally smudging the azure sky
with bruisy magenta and ruining
your watercolor,
forgetting to turn off the gas stove,
forgetting to turn on the washer.

What you love,
the forever bright sky near the
big bear's republic,
the untarnished smiles
of your siblings' children,
the last drop of cardamom chai
and soft landing of a chocolate fudge;
the foggy breeze in the redwood preserve,
the hidden sunset behind the mountains;
the first ray from the nearest star
in the morning asking you to
live another lifetime
for another luminous day;
the splash of water on your face
and the citrus cucumber lemonade,
your collection of books
and the paper cuts of emotions,
your soft pencil
and the sharp pencil;
your cuddling teddies
and soft linen blankets.

Everything is real.
Everything is lived.