, ,

trapped between the glass and silver
I look like myself but I am not

tumbling about haphazard
scraping knees and dreams
finding comfort in the sting

fields of soft poppies
and a generous smile call me
but I’m no Dorothy

will not be tricked by the light
with crinkled cheeks and bow-less brows
I force joy out of focus

temporarily forgotten but I know better
and must watch with tender thoughts
until it snows