Vapor Hill
by D. K. Sterling

I'd like to breathe some place I've never been; lunch
with a homeless man I'd only just met. Spreading an
invisible blanket on the ground, we'd leave our
pretend waitress payment in the form of a thin paper
napkin.

Alone, I'd play hide and seek on a big green hill; at
the top, unzip my luggage and kick it down. Watching
the things I own scatter as civilized clutter, if only
to prove I'm not at the mercy of any of it.

I'd weave a bracelet of dandelion stems; carry an
amulet in the form of a speckled brown pond stone.
Wishing to be a dark island dancer, I'd sway and sing
from the pit of my lungs.

A falling star, playing flat as an October leaf's swan
song, I'd lie still beneath a night sky until I could
trace images of forgotten lovers; their arms and legs
locked into Celtic patterns.

Laughing at death, I'd fold my hands into shapes of
flowers, wondering about God, and if darkness had ever
conspired to see me naked.