Problem is...

there was a blue jay on the porch when I took lunch.

and a few weeks ago i accidentally stepped on a snail. heard the crunch and looked over my shoulder to see a cracked house bleeding clear. i wanted to take the shell-halves and scoop up the goo inside, hold it close and whisper incantations that would heal it but also stop it from eating the leaves in our garden.

i've dreamed of it since then but i always use the wrong words to describe dreaming.

anymore
i wonder if the planes fly the way we told them to.
running amok amid some arid zona of forgotten.
flying into godknowswhat
and being swept up in a whirlpool of where we go
when
if
maybe.

people will ask you directions to everywhichway but all they really need is to know you'll never stop loving them and you'll kiss them even when they've lost their lips.

or am i treading through fire?

the moon looks at me like that sometimes:
like i'll never grow up as tall as i want to
because __________
(fill in the blanks at your own discretion)

it's not that the sun has risen and set on me
it's just:
i've only ever seen the sunrise from my window
and the sunset?
well that's a story for when the lights go out