when i was small and nothing was named

triangles rounded, appealing yet strange,

pink pastel , green, powder blue,  cream,

on a chain of balls hung by my hand

in the space now named kitchen, mundane,

a wondrous light gleamed on the taps

a window shaped shadow shone on the wall

sunspots and dazzle in dust motes that danced

the magical, mystical weave of the world

 

daydreams later, music, rhythms and words,

hidden companions jumped out of books

words that told astonishing thing, they flew

black wings, deep blue, a momentary flash,

crystalline visions, a jewel  shone in a beak,

a message from angels that sheltered the bed.

morning left  on the walk to the school

to the room of the witch, her ice cold eyes

held nightmares, inaccessible stars,

barred windows where birds sang outside

a world full of things not understood

diving inward, escaping

curled up tight in a ball

eternally quiet

eternally small