whimsical

"The ballroom dance of the leaves in the wind, beaten against tree trunks, Maggie baby, you always had me twirling around your pinky, lost eyes and rushing mouths, Coaxed to a soft sleep, the gentle wings rise, lathered in stray dreams and half-sinking sunsets, The blue light slips down your silk gown, you- a mass of curls laced with the skylight, forever out of my reach. 

Stirring the coals, tending the flames, my words blaze like flags in the October air, 

The glory melting into floorboards, liquid gold and silver sweet, star-spun and yet piercing to touch. 

The ghosts dance at the edge of wavering reflections, whimsical and weepy-eyed, 

Ocean lights and wavelets shine on my ceiling, twisting into a tale braided by a sailor's rumcoated mouth. 

My mother's hand reaches across the layered strands of time, cutting me out like a heart, pocketed into life, 

Stitching back blood veins into my unlit skin, the light crackles and the questions pour forth like hail storms, 

The colours and music blur into each other, the sails whispering to the misty-eyed clouds, 

The candle drips its oil coins of glow over the blue-black sheen of the river, the daffodils sing in the winds. 

Life is perfect. 

Life is alright. 

Life is manageable. 

Life is a breath knocking the doors open in my lungs."