Come
On Sunday, Cappelbaum became dog.
He woke up from dream in which he kept
Arriving in Japan. Bus driver
Was white but spoke perfect Chinese. He
Veered and steered bus with large round dial
Down long, empty highway. Cappelbaum
Left his navy blue Hilfiger bag
On bus, but, when he realized this,
He felt no sadness at all, only
Liberation from past. Besides, his
Backpack kept turning to black satchel,
As he kept passing white onlookers,
Who were onlooking curiously.
Cappelbaum searched for concrete garden,
Most beautiful garden that he saw
Only in dreams. Perfectly unsprung,
Weather was now firmly in favour.
When he ran, everyone ran. When he
Spoke, everyone spoke the language that
Everyone speaks. No wonder, for he'd
Spent seven years Theseus'd. As he
Arrived at his stop, Cappelbaum saw
That he had much more walking to do
Before becoming. He did not have
Mouth to explain difference between
Two words. He did not have digits to
Demonstrate why canary's demise
Was most important of all, or why
No matter remained. Cappelbaum then
Bounded through streets to dark waterfront
To garden, open garden, hanging
Garden, concrete garden of muted
Beauty and light, where two girls with shaved
Heads mourned broken tectonic plates when
Opening door woke Cappelbaum. She
Performed sinuous stretch, one small leg
Bent back. She shook her short mane, ran to
Sounds of morning and breakfast and voice.