You recall looking up to summer skies A sheer filter of crystaline blue between you and heaven It looked even bigger to you then Impossible Relaxed on a pallette of green grass Soft blades hugging your small body one at a time You remember the patch of Earth cool against your back tickling your neck an easy comfort for you to rest your head, so full of new thinking You did not know how to to lasso the clouds with those fresh, new thoughts still awkward and unwieldy between your ears You were afraid to name those clouds with your soft, wet words Fastening monikers that might be too new might not be just right Your small lips pucker into a whisper: Elephant, you say Kitten, you say Cereal bowl Mama's good church shoe, you say You learned to transcribe cumulus tales of summer Clouds scrolling like silent movies across your blue s...
Dasha Kelly Hamilton's ramblings, writing and random, wild imaginings.