Sleeping in the Afternoon

It started raining while I was sleeping,
the violets and the clams slept too.
The umbrella, the sand moaned
in her sleep and
the stones clapped for cluttered dreams,
a plane whistled and roared up there
and the idea
of ten miles blew up
to a golden amount, some perfect amount.

I start dreaming on how
there is always so much standing between me
and the weightless moments of life
when I hears a guitar start strumming
through the air, somewhere in the neighborhood
I hears a guitar, I hears a harmonica
as the sharks move nude under the water,
as the clams shut their shells and muzzle their ghoulish songs.

As I look, miraculous, into the puzzle of the trees
and overhead a jet sings, whistles and
roars bringing in the idea, and the idea
of ten miles or even
more seems wasted, whiff,
not a far off ending, not a far off thing, not an
important thing altogether either.