my husband’s deep
in a dream of papier
mache bowls colors
arrayed in a way
what will we do
with them? he asks
the dream-me
we can’t toss
salad in them.
one of our guests
puts one on his head
he wakes to dill-green
the silver tabby’s eyes:
manzanilla olives
hours tumble out
like birthday wrap
I drive each way
with no radio