The cosmos of colors from a fading
light
and
a
crumbling
prism
seeping into her outstretched
hand that yearns, dreaming
of trapping a passing memory in
its sweaty palm
then sealing it
in boxes called
words,
just as it once had.

Flames of the
sun
licking at the liquid serenity
of a dress dyed with the pigments of the
sky-
To her now is her daughter
skipping through the muddy backyard
in expensive clothes.

A web of night,
graceful dark figures,
weaving across white snow-
Twisted into newsprint
and the all too important
headlines,
prophesizing the wars,
the truths,
past present, and future,
the ones she reads because
she is an adult.

Pen in hand,
trembling,
eager to give form to her feelings.
She slips
into those
early
moments before the
shift-
Impossible suddenly becomes
Possible,
Neverland is just beyond
the diamonds in the sky,
Within reach of a butterfly net
and a wish upon a shooting star,
only for one precious
fragile
second,
a tiny mark on the timeline
she chains herself to, a single
freshwater drop in a
salty,
salty
ocean.