I miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms. I miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world.

At 12 between dozing and dreams
She saw the most fantastic things
A slumber adorned
With razor-edged thorns
That erupted in bloom at the seams

At 3 between dreaming and rest
Her thoughts brought a bright-colored pest
It nibbled just at
Where the thornbush had sat
And summoned its friends from the nest

At 6 between resting and dawn
The odd vermins’ menace was gone
They filled up balloons
And watched the buds bloom
From their spot by the oak in the lawn

At 9 between dawning and rise
She wiped out the salt from her eyes
She tried to start thoughts
On the things she forgot
But nothing remained in her mind

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