I thought the moon might fit in my pocket,
that trees hum lullabies when no one listens,
that maybe socks disappear to start new lives
somewhere warmer,somewhere wild.
I wondered if puddles dream of being oceans,
if ants tell ghost stories about falling crumbs,
if laughter, once set loose,never really stops
---
only hides in the corners of windy afternoons.
......
I thought the moon might fit in my pocket,
that trees hum lullabies when no one listens,
that maybe socks disappear to start new lives
somewhere warmer,somewhere wild.
I wondered if puddles dream of being oceans,
if ants tell ghost stories about falling crumbs,
if laughter, once set loose,never really stops
---
only hides in the corners of windy afternoons.
......