I’m lying abed,
warm but worried
over an undefined something.
The phone rings:
“I miss you. Do you miss me?”
“Who is this?”
I hang up.
My wife rolls to her side and kisses my shoulder.
“Who was that?”
“I have no idea.”
I tell her the side she missed.
I get up and shuffle to the bathroom.
When I get back,
she has arisen and gone into the hall.
I follow across a broad courtyard
and watch her open an ornate wooden door
and go through it.
I get to it, but it is locked.
I’ve never been in this place before,
but I know where I’m going.
I walk to the other side of the large
stone building to another ornate wooden door.
It, too, is locked.
There are people around, but none watching.
I decide to go find John.
I don’t know who John is,
but I know he is the Director.
The courtyard is lit with morning sun,
soft greens and golds,
warm breezes, and sleepy birds.
I walk as if I know where I’m going.
There is a road stretching away.
I see hikers and bicycles and understand
that no cars can use it.
I follow a path that leads around
the courtyard to elegant wood and stone steps.
Across the cunning patio
I see that John’s door is ajar.
I peek inside.
There is a single bed with
the covers recently thrown back.
I hear voices in conversation and
decided to come back later.
As I descend the steps
I am met by a short-haired,
bright red alpaca, with a purple topknot.
She looks like a furry four-legged quail.
Her eyes are lovely, the color of sun tea.
I stroke her back, enjoying the fuzzy redness.
“Great to see you. Did you call me?”
She giggles again.
“I have an appointment with John.”
I smile and let her go.
The volume of what I don’t know astonishes me.
(upper from great-adventures.com; alpaca from old.petethepermie.com; quail from treknature.com)