Transplanted fan,a breeze comes at will.We float inside four distinct yellow skieswith an aquarium rigged for a portal.On a hinge,we may list for a week to the east,then to the west.Whenever I call for them,storms arrive. Room service.Little clever captain,you tip the floor uneven.The paperwhites for our bon voyage,In winter, evergreens. Parcels neatlyaddressed, ready for the post office,whenever we pull into port.Perhaps, you’ll startle a bird outside,and the shore will rise on the horizon,a jagged distant green.When there’s an orange on the pillow,we can think of home and sigh,but only for a moment. ____Sarah Ann Winn lives in Fairfax Virginia. Her poems have appeared or will appear soon in [d]ecember, Lunch Ticket, Massachusetts Review, Quarterly West, and RHINO, among others. Her chapbook, Portage, is forthcoming from Sundress Publications in Winter 2014. Visit her at http://bluebirdwords.com or follow her @blueaisling on Twitter.