My words
want a place
up high, where they
can fly in on pieces of sky,
and settle into story.
My words
want a place
where the stripe of the highway
guides them here and away.
My words
want to sit in
molten sunbeams
simmering as ideas, waiting
to bubble into book life.
My words,
wish the window wasn’t
so far away, and the world
outside did not beckon
with so many responsibilities.
My words
want a place
where time stops,
where only they and I exist
and together, we mold worlds.
Shawn L. Bird 