My Pocket Only Holds Paper Dreams
Small circles of copper wishes and larger circles of silver faith
reflect in my infant eyes as though issuing my future
from beneath the blue blue water whose ripples remind me
of my loved ones who've lived and died.
Ripples wrought from the last withered hands that clutched and in a
severely held breath released a pocketbook full of copper wishes.
She smiled and sighed as her wishes fluttered and sank silently
to the marbled floor.
My pocket holds only paper dreams.
I place one green dream on the blue blue water's surface
like a child sailing her first ship after a spring rain.
I step away and with one final glance over my shoulder,
I leave my dream behind, soggy and floating.
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