I chased Sara

I chased Sara through alleys, around corners, across the city square getting stared down by pigeons coo-coo-ing their contempt of the Running Man, up stairs, down chimneys, along streets that cars on vacation had vacated (because she said so), in the airport escalators where long gone meet and greet, in a balloon (because she can fly and I can't) through nimbus and cirrus, then suddenly in fields of blue (why blue?) grass as high as forever and as soft as her voice in giggling taunt up ahead, left or right, right or left, it echoes inconclusively, but I plough on, chasing Sara to maybe kiss her nose or tickle her silly, chasing Sara to the bottom of the sea where there are cities (she saw that on TV, so it must be true) and dead seamen are turned into statues and put on the squares (but no pigeons, thank god), chasing Sara up onto a tropical beach where we stop to help a starfish swim again, over the African plains, dodging lions and polar bears (they moved south because they were freezing), over the playground, three laps around her sister and in under her kitchen table.

Sara chased me to the Sofa. That was enough.