I sat down beside a stream,
and noticed, in its gleam,
that the water had turned black—
with beams of white light
shining brightly around.
And it was a beautiful sight,
as swirls of milk flowed through
what I’d then called the Milky Way.
I stood upon an ark that I’d built
from paper mâché, next to the stream.
And I wished upon a streamy star
to take me away from this imaginary dream—
that floated in the clouds
with evergreen trees
that will never die,
no matter the weather
in the deep blue sky.
I pushed the ark into the stream,
as it melted away my imaginary dreams.
But then I realized that I could still
breathe, in the ocean of outer space—
and it made me believe
that anything was possible
in the grand scheme of things,
in this realistically imaginary place.
Although the ark had melted,
the stream began to shift,
it would surely seem,
and to take form into something else—
a pair of butterfly wings
attaching themselves to my back.
Now, I could soar through the sky—
in the form of an imaginary butterfly.
Although all of it was real,
it didn’t seem quite so,
as the stream’s flow formed into
a paper mâché turtle,
and I hopped aboard as we rode away
into the sea of dreamy memories,
somewhere in the Milky Way galaxy.
And then I could see myself
for who I was—
a lovely butterfly,
in a cosmic society of fireflies.