ink

i dreamed last night.

i couldn’t find my pen.

wait, that’s not quite right.

i didn’t really lose it.

it was just hiding from me.

that’s different.

i couldn’t write anything.

my fingers felt tangled.

and without it,

nothing made sense

at all.

maybe this sounds confusing.

but it isn’t.

in my dream, i woke up

and saw the pen

was in my bed, and it had burst

now i was covered

in thick ink

that flowed over my body

and eventually into my mouth.

when i tried to speak,

i gurgled

and jumbled

and tangled thoughts

spilled out of my mouth.

I pressed a leaf
between book pages
in a chapter I
haven’t read yet.
a dark purple leaf
with crimson veins
from a season that has passed
from a season kept
in a timeless moment,
a child laughing at
the rain.
a child who isn’t jaded yet
always curious
and free
always safe
in the unknown
at home with all the questions
questions wrapped up in life
life held as a question