maybe
by lauren d'auria

widdle waddle swish swash
open close late again.
another day i wondered off.
lost again.
i stopped for a moment and it turned into endless seas of sight, smell, sound.
no other witness.
no thing could record or repeat or explain the freedom of the silence of it.
all.
spinning, twirling, around, around-
that feeling between dizziness and surrendering to the fall,
the length that stays between you and the ground meet once again.
squish plop blob splash.
no words besides these onomatopoeias
float and flutter over wind.
they are the sustenance of our speech.
what can describe the beauty that is exagerated behind closed eyes?
no boundaries, no dimensions, no stuttering syllables,
but silence still remains perfected to be completed and completely uncompleted
by a bell chiming to remind you reality hit my face,
my head nodded off,
once again hoping this time it could have been real.