I went there once,
to the place you’re imagining.
It was purple, with wild geraniums
under green-bright stars.
All the constellations spelled
words, like “skyr,” and “jazz.”
The birds sang in three-part harmony,
and you wouldn’t believe
the taste of the ocean.
I came home blind,
but oh, how clearly I could see.
Deb Baker is a writer and poet living in Americus, Georgia.