My daughter sat in a box this evening
pretending it was a ship
captain as yet of her impatient soul
mistress still, of her fate

I looked at the box when she was sleeping
picturing, if I once more might fit,
whence would I glide in my cardboard empire –
which pirates and treasure would await

away from this land of imprisoned grown-ups
whose days do not tolerate dreams
map-reading blind, with faulty compass;
making the best of our worst-laid plans.