Patio of dreams

The man is convinced he doesn’t need the test

that he is cured by the shots

that everything’s fine now

as he storms through the house

slams the teak door

forgets to make the call

forgets to check the horse

begins to build the latest wall of stone

brick by brick

with wettened sand in his old shovel and orange witness of a dog

pulling rounded quartz from No-Name Creek chugging up the tall dew-mist hill

to make his wife of many moons a patio of dreams looking down the windy pasture to the low field

where the Guernsey lay

(they of tan hide, richest cream, ear tags with names Molly, Jan, Katie, Labron).

The people want to check inside of his cells, his mind – he doesn’t

They want to keep the shots going – he might

I want him to be mine – he may.