well what if i move to a city
and take my paper
and my entrepeneur heart
and i'll bake for the bread i'll eat
on weekends,
then trade it for the vegetables
a trader of creation
an art dealer of sorts

and maybe then i can relearn how to speak
if i listen to my heart

i hear birds wings fluttering
i hear caves echoing
until you reach the liquid bottom
and reflect,
all golden light
on the walls inside.

something is calling me
to the mountains by the sea
i've never felt so connected.