I wish there were magic words I can utter
that will open up the heavens and keep the Earth
from spinning from days to nights to days again
and stop time at noon where she reigns above me,
keeping the shadows underfoot with all of light's
colours and wonderful hues, like the powders
that she smears around her eyes some times.
I wish there were mundane words I can listen to
apart from all the relics that I've uncovered
like treasures hidden in plain sight on pages
that weren't meant to be the source
of the kind of joy that I feel at times
when I see all the colours and wonderful hues
as the light strikes her little eyes.
I wish I didn't need so many words
to say all the things that I say—
everything that I don't need to say
but want to say, and say anyway.