Monday, May 2, 2011

At Times

At times I drink too much
So someday, my children might know who I am
So I might find my way into it
Of being Child
Of being dreams on mountains
Reaching as far as small arms can
Small arms wrapping the world a thousand times over
Just to see what it feels like to own something so perfect
To hold everything, all at once before it gets too big
And arms grow tiny
And hands can only hold on to what is there
Gripped tightly between fingers and palms
Squeezing minutes from hours
While days drip into cliffs and raging rivers
Cutting clean the sides of mountains while I sleep