windows down
hair flapping high
my right arm escapes
confinement
to dance
with the swirling gale
when i was a child
my hand was a boat
rolling along
the crests of waves
a bird
swooping low for food
during its long flight
a porpoise
chasing
teams of silvery fish
an angry giant
stumbling over
tiny ant people
with its canoe sized feet
but i’m older now
and i know better
i know
that my hand
is simply an
off roading jeep
a graceful skier
skimming the slopes
a shooting star
grazing a galaxy
a ufo
lost in a wormhole
where nothing else
and everything else
exists
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