Hidden Storm.
The young girl’s eyes,
Were brazen with brown grey smoke,
At word of it.
Wild flowers grew,
Childlike,
Pulling at a string somewhere within.
I’d seen it in a tear before,
How it was that even a
Pin drop on earth,
Could shake its core.
Gently,
Behind blond dainty hair,
And tiptoes/skipping rope,
She I suppose was,
Guiding you, there, there, there.
Elongated from where you’d been.
1,2,3
You jump the rope.
What is it she said
That made your head?
What did it take to
Swoop her away?
Each new becoming is
Yours now
Yet I whisper our old dreams in defiance
Become desirous, craving conveyance
We are children
Adorned and
Living under a humdrum skyline
Waiting for a golden eagle to float float float
Us to a way.
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