Pink and purple and green plaid
wellies underneath a tutu, two, two,
hands that fluttered like butter and flies together
around eyes that hadn't decided if they were choosing
a color from this mundane spectrum or the next
strand of hair that was stuck in her mouth
that prattled of nothing and everything and
made no sense whatsoever until you walked for a block or two and
realized that the words looped and whorled
around and around, like that strand of hair on her finger,
which was as blue as the sky, as her eyes at the moment,
and it twisted into a tiny braid or a curl that grew from
the middle of her forehead and,
gosh, am I making any sense at all?