Peacock Day

Open your eyes
and day's baubles are flying
from room to room, webs
bullied out of the rafters
to fall like ghosts of nets.
The house spins, farmyard
animals cut out of paper
cross and recross the center
where my head is crowned
with holly, my pupils berries,
mistletoe in my teeth.

Open your mouth,
run a wet finger around
your lip's rim and hear
a wineglass singing outside,
where the peacock cries.
You pluck a princely feather
out of my behind, turn it
in the light and buff
it to an emerald shine.
This mobile of a house,
turning like a dervish,
hung in the nursery
of the fullblooded world,
can be yours, as it is mine.