Sometimes I actually enjoy this feeling of falling,
Like maybe,
If I opened my arms just so
And picked up enough speed,
It might become flying.

I don’t think it’s a good thought to have.
It sounds nice in my head, but
I think it’s like when the wolf wore granny:
Its teeth are too big.

If I could dream,
I would have someone take me by the hand
And show me small, beautiful, overlooked things.

Birdfeet prints in moss-mottled concrete,
A scrap of scarlet fabric snagged in brambles near the railway bridge,
A spelling mistake in an important notice outside the courthouse,
A weather-battled gnome nestled among somebody’s primroses

“Look at this”, they’d say,
“Impossibly, unfathomably here.

Like you are:
Impossible, unfathomable, here.”