The Sky Isn't High Enough

Little hands,

bands of color

off waxy

points.

-------------------

Pulpy paper,

brown like

the bark of

a birch.

-------------------

Lines, traced

and scarred

with tiny

imperfections.

-------------------

The black,

a thousand

variations of

the same pattern.

-------------------

Twinkle,

added in

from the

imagination.

-------------------

A pinch

of a dream,

a dash

of a destiny.

-------------------

What she

said was what

we wanted, not

what we would.

-------------------

The impossible,

in the small ones mind,

was perfectly

excused.

-------------------

Finished,

and hanging,

a mystery to

chuckle at.