It's thirty minutes to three in the morning.
I woke up from a nap that was half a night's sleep.
It told me to take it further than the tips of my fingers.

Then the words swirl around in my head and get
caught in whirlpools going around and around.
Never really quite profound until
something changes
and the flow changes direction...
all it needs is a little guidance,

and there you are being a little sundance.
It's a cute inward angle of the feet,
ankles out and pulling on your fingertips.

I can't seem to write fast enough
to record the rapid vignettes
flashing around my skull.

but I'm dancing in the rain as
sheets of water slip off rooftops.
and I am wearing a tie-dye shirt that
will never fit me anymore.

a shirt my mother made me...

and my brother is laying
at the foot of the staircase
and I am running down the steps
and with four to spare I jump —
landing on his stomach.

a trampoline, I imagined

and there I sit, in my father's lap
out on the back porch,
with a bag of carrots.
I only like the crunch
crunch crunch ptooey!
my brother is wheezing on the couch

and my porch is covered in carrots