the sea anemone in me

Surprises in the mailbox that remind me to dream and rearrange the paragraphs in my head.
My hands and fingers are twitching, surging, and a familiar tingle is lurking just beyond what's needed to make them jump. To make them dance, my own ten little dancers in the dark. I can sit above and be their life-line, their life-giver, and similarly just let them go. All these other things start to seem sort of irrelevant in that grand-scheme-of-things way. But they are menacing and trying and they are slow. I had to spend the necessary amount of time digging so deep just to fish out the knots keeping all this tethered tightly to all my parts. Even so only the very tips of my fingertips could reach. Untying is still a great ways away. If these things were just a little varied from themselves perhaps I could operate. Extricate.

There's only one way to wind my spring. All I can do is whatever it takes to find the dreams and start the dances.