Carry-On’s

Bolts and bearings

gray, black, blue, yellow,

round,

spinning and spinning,

forward—

like time does.

Mr. Crowley,

have mercy on this traveling woman.

My heels stomp the pavement

like rumbling wheels,

wheels

wheels on my suitcase.

Guitar case for a bass

a clenched fist around a boot lace,

Not even America can hold me back.

Over the pacific ocean 

Three clouds float

like lily pads.

One pebble skips across each one.

Blue ridged mountain sides

like creased paper.

Streams cartwheel down its face.

Blankets of misty devotion we call cumulus.

Three clouds float

like lily pads.

My pebble skips across each one.

I know I can fly when I’m inside this big bird,

floating in the sky.