Being Walked

Today, my first love is a two year old child
pulling at my fingers,
begging... me, me, see, see.

He works at my chains
in which I have lost the key.
He says he can fix my heart
with his plastic tools.

All dreams have become heroic
and my ventures swim within.

Sometimes I light a match
and look for colored flames from my breath;
With so many sparks hatching from my brain,
surely there must be fire escaping somewhere.

The child puts on his fire hat and charges forward,
Me! Me! tugging at my fingers, allowing colors
of morning dew to run through my limbs.

His plastic tools become a ball being swept from my hands
Through imaginary hoops
in the clouds.

-Sonja J. Phinney 13-Aug-2004 (for Peyton)