The story ...

This was my morning:

                   I went to a Magical Creatures fair— 

      where music sifted through wrought iron stalls—

was fondled by a randy hare,

then followed an elf to where the fennel calls.

I spotted a rainbow tucked away

and new I'd find there a unicorn

  that I'd seen settled under its glow yesterday,

        held that bright beast gently near me by her horn,

                        smelled her hooves (fumes of strawberry field),

                                         her mane (like cords of woven silk).

                                                           In close, I could hear her soothing breath

                                                                               like carbonated, fizzing milk.

Others say, “It was just the farmer's market.”

Those musicians were just beggars playing tunes.

That sign “Fresh Rabbit” was over a carcass.

The old lady pointing to the fennel, was who?

Just another person, on just a drizzling day.

But I refuse—I Reject—that brutal, gory

Crushing of droplets into some flat-damp gray,

When as beads, they were sparkling. That's my story.

And it all began with a note from you, really.

That bade me look around, hunt for something

To send you—whatever I could find, storied and silly—

that lit up my dreams, gave my wet morning wings.