The Past Does Not Exist

What a week:
romping
grinning
using logic
wearing hats
composing
strolling through
flowers
and past
the chained-up barking dogs
laughing
all the way
sending subliminal love letters
to long lost
sweet souls
debating theology
over hamburgers and fries
sand grinding in between my toes
the glow of creation
fresh in my eyes
scratch pad
beaming with jumbled
seedling madness
mind talking
and world listening?
was it possible?
could it have been?

I should have pinched myself
now
I’ll never know.