I need a place
an attic in my head
to go there
sit in the rose
coloured light
the golden hour of
my mind and watch the
willow tree
growing quietly next to
the brick
in the place
I am who I always was a
growing chrysalis
a changeling constant stasis bug
movement beneath crystal
flickers underneath the
ice
but it will be quiet still
and the door will be locked
and I will stay there not
to hide from
myself
but to flee the potential
for crisis
if I don't cross swords with
the inner speed demon
find my zen
and go to the
supermarket.