wild child

woke up to the morning sun; kissing me warm
i can still feel it—little tingles that run like rivers—
on my belly, my neck and my arms;
telling me to cartwheel out my window,
and ride, a dragonfly passing-by;
to see my happiness reflected on wispy wings
that chart the colors of the sky;
to hear my heart stutter as we flutter
through the wind, touching grass wet with dew;
to feel my ears go numb, in anticipation of a slowing due—
a mid-air transfer—free-falling, tumbleweeding;
landing softly on a butterfly’s velvet wings;
to taste my excitement as we glide; oh, to glide—
hair matted with dirt, and twigs, and leaves that dried—
into the sun; wings flapping, gliding into the sun:
to stare at it, and not go blind;
to stare at it and not go blind