She feels like 

old leaves in autumn sometimes, never quite 

settling in one spot before

drifting in to the next. 

Sometimes I wonder 

if she could hold on to one space 

what it would be. 

What she could be. 

 If she could ever be 

more than just a cloud, 

letting things pass through and over and under, 

taking everything in and 

exhaling it out all in one breath. 

One day she’s a storm over the pacific and then 

all of a sudden 

she’s the littlest hobbit in the shire. 

Sometimes she lingers, but rarely for long. 

I too often wonder (worry?) if she will ever find a place in the world. 

Her own place 

in these wide, infinite universes. 

More likely she’ll just keep on rolling, past all the 

greens and blues, 

passionate about everything at least once, 

never missing a beat. 

Her eyes will have seen so much, and yet... 

I wonder... 

what it might be like to be a tree, 

roots and trunk and all of my leaves 

anchored in one solid place, 

whispering to the breeze as it passes, 

happy in a little universe I will 

never 

not exist in.