If Maggie the poetess says it is so
It has got to be so about iguanas.
They must be dreaming of sand.
A fistful of a bird ,on clothesline,
Sleeps, all night ,like underwear
Hanging to dry by balcony’s sun.
The fistful of bird passes through
Its rapid eye dreams ,despite my
Switching light bulb on its sleep.
Like iguanas and bird on a wire
Maggie has dreams about a dad
Who lay dreaming outside body.
All things and creatures lay still,
As they dream from their bodies
In intense rapid eye movements.