Enchanting is to haunting as breathing in is to breathing out: two sides of one see-saw not two. In walks a dog and out walks God. Wow and Mom are palindromes. Except for the sweet potato, brown dwarfs have no opposite and the visions I see in my head are not dreams, they are oranges. Oranges. A turquoise glass bowl glowing with sunshine-shaped pomelos. A lion-embroidered pillow. A two-tier white-wedding-cake costume garlanded in pink-and-green flowers, modeled by a lean orange cat, upright and humanlike but oranger and hairier in a pair of old-fashioned yellow heels. The cat's arms are unseen inside the white-wedding-cake costume or else the cat is armless. The cat is definitely headless. On the top layer of the cake where the cat's head does not protrude, an old green-bubble television tuned to a staticky station airs a digital cartoon of the head of an orange cat winking. You belong to every vase. Even nuns perspire.