Texas, age 7

5.25.13

We begin to make plans, lists
of places we could end up,
long loose lines on cheap maps.
I do not want to be alone,
so I invent you,
I give you purpose.
I wake you up singing in my sleep.
You dream of falling and I stumble over the lyrics.
You would like to see the end of the lemon season,
I would like to dance topless
on Mustang Island.  
I would like the wind to lift me
like fishhooks in my palms. 
We diverge, we
calculate. 
I try to steal that purpose back.
The staggered hydrangeas bloom
between songs.  You wake up
and walk out the door.
I am on my own adventure.
I scream.
How have I not noticed; this bed
so bare and small.