Little Child

She idly
dances her fingers on
the window pane
her hand
small
and fragile
unbaked dough
yeast rising in the
early morning sun
marker smudges
on her fingertips
a single sticker
on the back of her 
hand
and I wonder where
she is going
and her fingers
twist and skip
in circles on the glass
and they flourish
and the dough jumps
and the sticker holds
on tightly
her fingers still
and drop to her 
side
her dance is over
and I applaud