Mr. Magoo and Don Quixote

pulled up huge armchairs and pillows,
lifted heavy poles and pedestals,
let a grand sail unravel around them
and sank into a wind of minty breath,
eyes wide open to a sky closing in.

On a day gravity failed, they began to swim
lopsided, falling one way, then another,
and when the clouds began to cackle and fall,
they waited for gravity to restore itself,
recovering who they were on a different page.

That's when the windmills went batty,
their horses lost track of time,
equipment bent into tree limbs,
every supporting characteristic evolving,
and they leaned into reams of dreamcatchers.