Magic Glass

I embarked for Oz from Texas, from couch or carpet in the once upon a time
In the days where the cars left no ruts on the highways, the motion its own track.
Restless, she whispers. Not rootless. Tethered, lifted with the heat
Pressed up from the asphalt, the heaviest of birds, my own ghost, drifting.
We have been so many places, she whispers.
Green glimmers from the edges of the window. I can hear the vinyl
As I slide across the seat, feel the windows sliding down as I press the lever,
Waiting for someone to come, to turn on the air, to twist the engine
Into the deep thrum that will carry us toward Port Arthur and deep into
Fairyland, where the Cokes are cold glass fish drawn from the horizontal fridge
In the shady salon, deep as a swimming pool.
We can drift again, she promises. I see her toes trailing in the bright dust,
Universes swirling miniature in the sunbeams. She drags a hand through
Light and particle, through dream and consciousness. I hear a door click
As she wavers, the edge of vacation flowing like slow glass until the daylight
Bends and we are treading
In the magic glass.

This is being cross-posted this week with both The Sunday Muse (Muse #12) and with Poets United (Poetry Pantry #410). I think I'm ready for fall...
Hope you have a good week & if you're working on NaNo, may you have many words come visit you. My brain has decided to distract me with cover possibilities (because what's the good of having the barest beginning of a draft if you can't daydream about covers?) but I'm still moving forward. 

-- Chrissa