Running out of room…
Running out of room…
alas, I tumbled off the page.
I found myself splashing
rather delightfully
until I arrived at a shore.
Wiping my eyes,
liquid pools of droplets
dangled from each lash.
I beheld a woodland.
The most astonishing trees
were woven into place
—they reached skyward
inviting me to do the same.
From a hidden perch
swooping down upon me,
shadowing my small self,
I reached, grabbing hold of
its talons. The bird allowed
me to find a soft place in its
feathers and suddenly we were
gliding to the Sun.
“Would we reach the ends of the world?”
I thought.
“Would this ‘place’ I was in
run out of room?”
The moon swirled into this
landscape of timeless pages,
and I wrote
trusting there is no end.
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