Dreams are currently crammed
in small spaces along with
tiny joys of
finding adequate shoes over lunch break,
having figures balance happily
like little birds on a wire in spring,
and inhaling whatever is in the air
on a twinkling December afternoon.
I bemoan my choices, my genetics,
and a wildly energetic imagination
that often keeps me out of the
moment,
but some afternoons,
like this one,
I’m not worried or afraid.
Maybe there’s no room for fear.
The Word Rummager 
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