in my restless imagination
i see the entire world differently
like it was just born
vast and wild
i see fires
i feel the skin of my ideas
colors are in between us
i see him when i see myself
our story looks the same
i kneel before this wonderful pain
honoring my feelings
i surrender
up into the rafters of baked clouds
i ascend
into this like a fool
i drift
into the poets smoke
my hands parted before my lips
my words in their marbles
spinning in place
my pen is loaded
this dream
why not
faceless and slow
why not
i am dizzy
smiling in a riddle of us
new meanings
theses are new days
whatever this is holds me to my pen
sort of hidden
sort of obvious
it's right to enjoy this
nothing early
nothing late
-Bridget Weiser
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