if you can really travel between worlds
then would you carry my words to where
they need to be—
in your eyes, in your ears,
in a heart filled with fear
of false consequences;
on your hands, under your feet,
lay them on the sand where you land
when you stumble and roll
so they may cushion all your falls
as they expand and grow each night,
when I write them?
On the street, will you meet
the midnight breeze with joy
or will you freeze—
like your idle timeline?