With a Small Catalyst.

The clouds at night promised rain.

Last night I became a green inchworm in the dusk
and ate peach juices till I found the pit
the inner sanctum where the white flower used to be.

With or without the dare

I could stare back at the stars all night
I am not afraid but for the chance
I might fall off the earth with its furious spinning.

Let my light hands
these that I raise through thunderheads
be what they were meant for,
shoot furiously through the deafening darkness

wending a way
to a home without a white picket fence
to a home where my eyes grow wide and I say

Yes. This is what I want.