Open gangly arms are reaching
Forward, to a magic gate
Red and faded, painted beady
dragon eyes.
Little water house, you sing to me,
Ears floating from my head
Towards wispy cotton cattails.

I crave a jaunt with ducklings
In icy morning air,
Even if the pond is softly frozen.

Who lives in murky water?
And sings early winter songs
To a fragile gangly girl
Who's prone to listen
And respond?

Palm-sized apples, bitter cores
Losing noons to grape groves.
I wished to be a raspberry ferry
Floating downstream
Forevermore.