In my pocket, 
my imaginary country,

a best version
of this one; I carry it

with me tightly 
wrapped in hope.

It’s currently populated by
dinosaurs who emerge

as gentle as 
a hurricane’s far-side

sunlight filtering into
destroyed 

familiarity. If you see
them lumbering

into your path you
will be instantly changed

and unsure: what
is this?

What sorcery is this
that cures

both extinction and
gigantism? If you 

mean that you want
to know and are not just 

disbelieving your own eyes,
I will

point simply at the hope
and say it’s been there

all along, the magic
which when worked

can change all,
raising the long-thought dead

from a pocket
where it’s been kept

safe against 
battering and bring it back

to a sustainable form
and thus save a ravaged landscape.

In the moment
of crisis called 
today —

not to say
that all moments
of every day do not contain 
crisis for someone —

not to say
that it has not always been so
and that it will not
always be so —

not to say 
that this crisis here is not
the result of someone preventing
their own crisis there — 

not to say
that some crisis has not been made
by someone to make their own life
comfortable —

not to say 
that in fact all these earthly crises
do not have a thread of preventability
and volition tacked on somewhere —

in this moment of crisis called today I
am looking up and seeing it all as a Calder,
a mobile swinging —

huge and weighty disguised as flight
and light but all suspended by a cord
thinner than one would imagine —

not to say
it is incapable
of holding it
any longer — 

not to say
it will surely fail shortly
and crash, 
killing or tearing up all — 

not to say
anything other than 
if it were given
a good shake,

today might as well
be renamed
The End.