Neverland

I dream of Peter Pan.
But something's not right,
the colors are off a bit.
He rides through an open window
on waves of Indian summer, over my head
and down the hall. But he gets the story wrong-
takes my mother, takes my father,
leaves the children sleeping in their beds.
My brother wakes to the sound of their wind-
he won't be left behind- and pads after
in footed pajamas; fly-follows them
down the path of Peter's wake.

I watch through lids too heavy- electric sheep move through my head.
It happens too quickly, my leaden limbs move slow.
I am left standing at the sill
to watch my family fade away.