The Black Casita

By day, a little mother-in-law
Attached to a rather small ranch house—

A bedroom snug as a ship’s cabin,
Tiny kitchenette, shower bathroom,

View of a small, half-enclosed courtyard.
Go to bed at sunset in summer,

Wake up early, and switch on the lamp.
There’s a whoosh of canyon winds by then.

If you open the door to look out,
You’ll find another world by moonlight,

As if sleep and good timing were all
You needed for that secret garden,

Dislocation, time slip, your own world.
The laws are the same but there’s no one

Left but you to observe them. The wind
Tosses the wonderfully monstrous trees,

The courtyard’s completely quicksilver,
And you’ve left your dreams behind at last

As you settle in a wicker chair
And sail beyond the black casita.