Mould Killer Reverie

A walk in a park whose name I won’t remember. A furl of streets

unspool beneath me until I am there. The bird enclosure situates me at the heart

of the park and the lapping sound lights me to the fountain. The park bending around me

leaves me unphased, but the tilting ground pulls at me my ancestors were a sailing people

probably, so resilient I make my way back and collapse onto the sofa, and whistle

as it summersaults beneath me. If I dreamed, I dreamed of swimming pools

I dream of cold guest rooms and the welcoming arms of grey velvet Kalypso crawling up the walls.