Tree House Animation

Voices from another galaxy 
drop hints about this blissful daydream dwelling I’m 
obsessed with.
They douse the strident yelping from an unrestrained stray pup in my neighbourhood,
when it breaks clear of its tan leather muzzle with a consummate fiendish elan.
This happens when I stroll with abandon round a limp pale green grass lawn,
the type whose rabid cry for spumes of hydrant benefice is cruelly silenced.
Hedgerow choral bird chirps goad supple feats of trailing ivy reverie for that  psychic cleavage  of mine.
They grant behemoth powers, nether world cachet to float invisibly beneath rust sodden eaves,
a torch felt tar macadam chimney sneak peak when belching smokeless coal.
Cherry blossom panel tree house vision,
a tie cable mesh on creaky branch is quite the place,
refuge from an ancient era moss clad node awaiting blue jay flap.
To some this sturdy shoe box cartoon template reeks of  animation stuck with maple syrup.
Mere desperado flight beyond an ice rink winter twilight in Ontario,
the makeshift  skinflint bramble fire that barely thawed a frozen
infant trauma.
Childhood shriek and shiver may arouse inchoate recall of artic reindeer chariot adventure.
Mourning cloak butterfly aplomb, wing blown flit to deep freeze hibernation.
But alas this starstruck drifter seldom roams despite a far too frequent fictional encounter with earthbound migrant status.


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