Popcorn

There is a code that only takes deciphering
to elucidate the meaning of the world.
What if, inside each of our lonely brains,
another world waited, breath abated, to open
into a field of peonies, brandished by sunlight,
ringed by oak trees dripping with honey, men
and women dancing on the hills? What if
there is a world woven through us all,
threading us together like popcorn for Christmas?
Let’s hop the string to run along the branches
to peer in others’ minds, teeming arks
with their own alien fauna. Let’s explore ourselves
like foreign countries’ tourists with their packs,
searching for Nirvana through their view-finders
off a greasy side-street where a pick-pocket waits
for them. Let’s peel ourselves back to each
other, like oranges, juices running down our chins.