You were in a distorted dream world, a slightly too bright garden.There were foxes running as you disturbed it,
And took a picture
A Polaroid memory of a reality you created, and tried desperately to hold still.
But as it shook in the wind the colours smudged and faded.
For in fact you are alone with these foxes, no picture will tell you that. Not real person responds when you share it. They don’t see it.
Your body reddens in the summer heat, but that part is ok. For someone is waiting for you, somewhere in the country. It peels away and you become lighter, floating until you can see them. And you do. And they are not waiting.