Tiptoes

Standing on tiptoes,

I yearn

to reach higher

than clouds

blooming

in purple blossoms.

I want to fly free -

I won’t give up.

I hear whispers

flailing

around me

touching wounds

that encumber me

in superficial shell

overflowing

with hunger

for all I can be.

I touch

the reflections

of the rain, knowing

I will once again

grasp the radiance

of my soul

as particles

of sundust

banish chill

from the air,

opening to bliss

as long

as I am willing

to exist.