It used to be that I could close my eyes and
show my teeth and
work some kind of magic but
now I’m pressing keys and
it’s always inches past my fingertips,
the thing I need to say.

It used to be that the gears of my dreaming
sat firm and moved mountains but  
now, I’m pushing hard against pebbles
and nothing trembles at my might.

And I know you know my heart,
will tend it carefully, but
it used to be that
it was overgrown and lush and green
with tangled vines and thorns
--places to hide and secrets to keep;
a place to get lost in,
a damp, dark world for things that grew.
Now I keep no secrets,
and will not hide among the low branches there again.