on my shelf when it’s quiet

back from frolicking amongst ferns
watching them uncurl
with abandon

clutching small stems of crushed buds
pretending it’s not sad
they won’t get to bloom

opened a page from a favorite writer
floating amid his images
of bears and cellists and stars

knowing it was an unremarkable day
doesn’t diminish mine
for I held magic awhile

needing to touch another frolicker
I can always find him where I need him
on my shelf when it’s quiet


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