I dress for fate: my plastic
pearls, my heels bejeweled
for dancing. You wear a cloak
of stars and moons and gloves
sewn out of satin. The party’s
dark, which hinders my chances,
my hope that our orbits collide.
A smoky wind blows in off the terrace,
blocks the view of what-comes-next,
the way the dealer’s poker face
obscures the future’s features.
He looks at us blandly and shuffles
the years. Everyone’s drunk.
Everyone’s gambling. We choose
another game and form a ring that stands
for time. we sit on the floor, cross-legged.
I catch your eye across from mine.
Set the bottle spinning.
~ from The Dream World (McClelland and Stewart, 2008)
