Late one night I woke up
climbed outside through a window made of redwood forests
stepped on a cloud and floated down to walk three inches above the ground.
The sky still tasted like hazelnuts
the burnt orange smell of sunset.
I put my hands in the ashes of dusk
marked my face with warrior stripes
and climbed a purple tree
felt the branches melt like chocolate
and reached up to cover a star in the bittersweet stuff of my dreams.
That night I cradled the moon in my hands
told it stories of a girl who painted the ground dark blue to match the sky
and made herself wings to fly away
carried by words.
And then the moon hugged me goodbye and I swam down
turned one last somersault
through the window
and into bed.
The next morning I woke up to a dark blue world
and the smell of the universe in my hair.