(for Summer Glau)
The world comes into focus, and you wonder if it’s real,
And if it’s your own eyes you see it through;
You wish you had a way to know if things you see and feel
Had anything to do with what is true.
And some of it is fanciful, and some of it is real,
And some of it is neither, both, or wrong,
And the Hatter said that if you’d wait he’d give you such a deal,
And you wonder what is taking him so long.
The silver ship sings lullabies as you shiver in your bed,
And the stars sing private pity of your plight,
While the hands of blue weave baskets of the thoughts within your head,
As they softly skulk through shadows made of light.
The White Knight is named Malcolm, since his path is never straight,
Though he manages the rescue in the end,
And the March Hare urges you to try some cake you know you’ll hate,
And says the big bright blue sun is your friend.
At times it all seems solid, and you know that for a while,
Your world will hold your brother and your friends,
But even that is tainted by the lambent azure guile
As you brace yourself for when the moment ends.
So Simon chases Jabberwocks armed with a hollow blade
And wishes for a monster he could see,
While your friends pour out the secrets of their daily masquerade,
And the Dormouse bids you come inside for tea.
Paul Haynie
2/4/2003