THISTLES AND ICE CREAM WHISTLES

Feet crunching over stones.

Chewing grass.

The world collapses in on itself with a hum that stills.

I close my eyes.

Racing blood.

Vision spinning and compressing.

Becoming peach and gold.

Over the brow.

Leaping on.

On to a crystal slide.

Traversing down to worlds unseen.

Arrival at the purple pool.

Where cockatoos float and splutter.

I look to the edge of the lake.

Standing on thistles where I wade.

 and next to me the ice cream whistles.

Or is it just an ice cream whistle.