Window Seat

clouds

Window Seat

One day when dead
I’ll come back with a bike.

I’ll pedal past gleam
of wingtip over miles
of billows and bright,
loop and flip and float
over each peak,
giggling with my brother
as we weave
thin paths over
pillowy knolls,
never winded.

When we’ll fall we’ll
fluff a dent
into snowdrifts warm
as hammocks and fresh
as tulip petals.
Our knees will loaf
a moment before
scrambling on.

And when Mom’s voice
glows from the horizon
we’ll pat soapy Santa
beards to smooth chins,
bumble straight
to sunset’s abode

and help her tuck in
all the chirping stars.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s