come back justwrite

Don't come back to three minutes ago when the floor broke into puzzle pieces glued in the wrong places, too far away to see what picture they're supposed to make or accidentally stain onto the bottoms of your feet, like leaves falling from the ceiling or plaster clogging up the sky. You fear the inevitable, which makes your nightmares match mine only on the darkest mornings when the sun finally gives up, feeling guilty for melting so many wings, whether they were real or not or I was so sure they were that I knew my feathers would grow back before my hair grew long enough to bring my prince back again, awaiting disappointment, his handsome smile is only a smirk and there are too many babies lines up for any of them to be the right one, envelopes slicing through your fingers as you search for the hidden letter inside that is only hidden in the sense that it's invisible or maybe doesn't exist. There's really no difference and never will be until my x-ray specs come in the mail, the first time without cardboard lenses, so I can see into myself, my reflection at least, find machinery lacking oil or a box full of wind, the lid fastened tight like a coffin trying to keep the faces inside from escaping, as if they have anywhere to go. I put on my dancing shoes and crawl into bed, a quilt across my face because I'm tired and especially sick of searching for things so far away like the moon but further like Jupiter's moon except with more mystery, a new bacterium or maybe just a shadow I can't quite explain, with words or photographs, but later realizing I've had an answer all along--not the one true answer, but an answer at least.