maybe here, here is something
a puddle lukewarm and thinning
as the cracks in the pavement
tremor in the running wind,
running leaves and running colors
dappling with a blissful laughter,
I reach my hands out and grasp nothing
and everything combs through
my tiny, tired fingers,
I breathe and taste the sweet air,
I look down and feet is no longer there,
I am a float, here,
here where something can be