I don't know, maybe Palm Reader?

1. Remember that day
the sun burned out?
you decided instead of sitting in darkness
that you
could just radiate?
And you
believed that
if you
concentrated hard enough, your
7 year old heart
could light up your whole block
or at the very least
your back yard bed-sheet fort?
Remember how up until
6th grade science class
you still could have sworn
you saw a fire-fly four-square game
flicker 5 centimeters below your clavicle?

Take a snap-shot of yourself
as you realized the biological impossibility
of magic.

2. Take your image of yourself;
stretch its boarders to the corners
of the imagination that
once upon a time
led you to believe
that you would be
a marine biologist
with her own dolphin refuge in Pensacola Florida--
live shows on the hour;
that reveled in the gymnast-like qualities
of rules when rounded off;
that never squinted in
the face of strangers, but opened eyes
wide as if to say,
"I've only got one, but we can share."

Introduce her to the stranger with
dandelions painted on her corneas
to charm the tourists
and keep them from realizing she's a tourist too;
who wanders underground railroad hallways
hidden behind billboard smiles asking
"are we there yet?"
who is only in water up to her elbows in
dish-filled sinks;

Show her your callused hands
that touch unfamiliar brick walls
refusing to surrender their secrets into your palms;
Show her
half-moon, fingernail-inflicted stigmatas
at the eye of white knuckle storms
that serve
less as sea-life sanctuaries and
more like late-night anecdotes for
infomercial insomniacs and craigslisted trysts.

3. Tell her it's temporary.
That tables will turn to turn tables in time
to play back that 7 year old shine
in her eyes from the glare of
holding the whole world
inside her pupils--Now apologize;
for ever possessing
a back-up plan that backed her
so far into corners her
butterfly garden belly forgot
the power of it's collective wingspan.

Superimpose your warped memory
onto grid-lines
like streets
like grid-lines guiding
4 a.m., not-enough-money-walks home,
and take comfort,
because Tonight;

I've gathered a whole playground full of fire-flys.
We've split into teams and
you're on mine.
We may not have the sun
but we have enough
light to see four contiguous squares
drawn in
side walk chalk on black top.

4. If you decide to join us you can play winner.
We will be here all night.