Willow-like, I imagine, In a safari hat, on top of the world. A tendril escapes, a kite-string to the sky That’s bigger here. I can almost twirl that brown butter lock around my finger, but I’ll reach up with my words instead, So as not to ruin it. I’ll make the world freeze in its frame for you, And you can hunt down the laughers and the sleepers and the bird watchers To indulge your lens. Sleep, sleep with the stars, my sweet. Wake tomorrow for a purpose That’s bigger there.