i am indoor wandering

under a mirrored ceiling in my own head—

my thinking sky

i am a lead balloon

a petrified caterpillar

who has not yet finished her cocoon.

the frozen stars

with their dull shine and hurricane dreams

leave

a hole in the wall

from a thought that moved somewhere else,

the invisible shadows seeping out and in

sometimes i see flowers growing through the floor

and rising up from the dirt in your brain

till fortune-cookie papers

have almost covered the walls

this mental goldsmith

with sea-sponge ears

and paper-mache soles in her shoes—

i can find my inspiration in

myself

tomorrow is not yet past.