Daydreams

I long to touch my fingertips to the sunset. Perhaps the West Coast would bring me closer, for my heart bounces like a runner on the balls of her feet, waiting for the gunshot to set her free, and she'll be off like a bullet. Unlike that whizzing metal, I have no specific goal; my targets are as scattered as the great wonders of the world— abstract specks on the pages of my life... Marring the publishers edition and editing itself into a wild tribal tale of legendary proportions. They call me young and foolish, but the young are  destined to dream. The old dream too; but only because their souls are perpetually those of curious children. Spinning, dancing, chasing fireflies on a summer night, imagining they were capturing the stars in the sky. I leap from solid ground to a shaky cloud, reaching for everything unseen.