And all of a sudden
one windy afternoon
summer slips through the glass
and dances in the library
(the music is a hundred kinds
of happy, and bright, and loud)
and I'm hiding a hundred secrets
under my billowing skirt, and
watching S walking and the wind
rushing through her hair as if it
could blow her right off her
little feet;
again, that rush bubbling
in the centre of my chest:
the feeling that the world
is too large for me to touch
and too small for me to eat
and there is so much to do,
so many places to go, so
very many smiles to smile;
the moon is the smallest
sliver it could be in the sky
every evening, and the stars
are shining fiercely, like me.
The days are long and windy.
My skin is slowly translating
my feelings and looking less
like cardboard or fiberglass.
Slowly some days I look
in the mirror and see
what I feel:
a shining
like sun
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