Swinging higher rising from green to a cloudy sky.
She would give up her feet in exchange for flight.
The day closes up shop, the doors locked, she finger paints
rain clouds in the windows, the light of midnight traffic slipping
by glimpses of golden and marmalade light.  In a slow blink she sips
black masala tea with cream and sugar with a flicker of  melancholy she imagines
the milky light polluted sky and the few stars stubbornly shimmering.

The palms of her hands burning  the back of her eyes sweating
strained visions of flowering deserts of hungry sunflowers and parched succulents
she feels the edges of depression creep around her waiting for the last sigh of joy.