THISTLES AND ICE CREAM WHISTLES
Feet crunching over stones.
The world collapses in on itself with a hum that stills.
I close my eyes.
Vision spinning and compressing.
Becoming peach and gold.
Over the brow.
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.