GreyBean

When the flowers fall with every burst of wind,
I imagine they swim their way back up
to their position among
the leaves and oranges. 
Shadows of broken clouds 
pass overhead,
the petals of orange blossoms

The sky is flecked with
golden stars.
Cream-colored stones splatter
the bark ground,
and I balance on my padded feet
as I walk across the bridge
made of a single tree trunk. 
My toes grip around strips of leathery

I swim in pitch black seas,
flaming stars dotting the depths. 
The seeds of figs slowly creep
into trees of metal
and stone leaves. 

Eyes became dim,
recognition hazy, 
minds foggy

She hoards little bottles of 
perfumes
on the shelves of her kitchen,
each drowning in its own scent —
cinnamon, mint, tulip, basil, berry. 
Her sets of blue and white china
are stored in dusty 

I want to reach for Jupiter's moons,
and I'll pour honey into the empty
shells
of coconuts. 
It doesn't seem impossible 
to grab a fistful of black sand
from the bottom of the ocean. 

If I were to create a list of things that remind me of laughter and childhood,
the list would be too long,
but I wish it would never stop. 

I miss visiting New York in autumn,