day 8

wWALKING tTO tTHE sSTORE

my daughter's legs

fill with cement when she wishes,

except if i carry her

but this, we all know

streets become mountains

rivers uncrossable,

sidewalks filled with alligators

wherever we go

logic is hidden

the pattern unknown-

but movement comes

like magic dust

and the disasters reflow

then phone booths

become treasure islands,

bridges are crossed with ease,

her babbling spills out

with strangers and trees

then i can hardly stop her

not that i might-

her longing to buy bread

could fill up the night

thank god that i waited

patiently breathed,

while cement became water

splashing the leaves