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.