The Dreamer

The dreamer walks like a conjurer onto the stage,
his promises a formula,
sleight of hand
silvers the air and the band –
different and sharp and near.

Nothing is hard but the present chair –
the tricks
click and snap and float like balloons and fill
nebulous eyes with colour
while the band
plays in the pit of the inner and outer ear.

Calls an accomplice, conjurer does, and you
are party to dreams;
he pulls them out of your mouth
like fancy handkerchiefs
or a string of beads.
From a zippered pocket of flesh
a rabbit grins.

Strip him, audience,
turn out his pockets, tear
his crazy clothes from his back,
while the band continues
fainter now in a tent of paper streamers.
Expose his tricks
and the muscles of his hands
and see him, pink and blue as litmus paper,
clutching at cardboard or a piece of string.