ember-orange wrinkles
pushed out from a crumpled horizon
spiral-bound sunshine clinging
to the hillsides, shriveling
into the gray echoes
black-as-ink night bleeding
through thin clouds
dusk stains scattered
and stamped behind paper
pine tree cutouts

erase the pencil marks
from faded skylines,
past swingset dreams
throwing stars into
the sunsets and cutting
out the silhouettes of the
frozen moments captured
under glowing book-lamps
and the carved out echoes
of shrinking silence

swing me into the morning
and highlight the pink and
yellows in the crevices of the
sky, flip the pages of the
waves and dangle the moon
on a single string thrown out
over the watercolor ocean;
ask me again if I want to
learn to dance, and watch
me turn from

dim and dusky clay to
windchimes
born through aching motion
to sing.