She would harness the stars if she could -
hitch them to her hitching post,
just a stump in the mind of a six year old -
and marvels at dewdrops, rabbits, and buildings that
defy gravity while they climb into the clouds.
She feels unburdened by life -
by loss, expectation,
the need to attach meaning -
and embraces creatures, grotesque and fuzzy,
as the fangs they bare do not prevent her approach.
She needs not cigarettes nor lovers nor coffee, uh uh-
her security comes from being out and curious -
and runs wild through sunrays
or bounds through the snow.
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