All You Ever Needed

I am a chameleon,
standing here on the branch
of the wrinkled chocolate stone
that grows upward and outward,
feasting upon the small rivulets of
blueberry juice that flow from the waves
of the open grey sphere that expands so far
that it appears to be flat, if flat indeed it is,
and all the world is a round flat disc of the
third dimension that could roll in the palm of the
hand of a living deity; it could roll around on an axis,
and focus on a bright yellow spot that glowed in
return for such revolving attention, such a spotlight
as that cannot turn away or veer off
from its accepted course.

I am an invisible ink,
the lemon juice, the milk, the white crayon
that small children use to write secret messages
to one another about their crushes, their secret lives
of imagination that extend far more outwards
and abstractly yet logically than full-grown, experienced
adults, leaders of this mundane world, are willing to
give them credit for, for this power had been lost
somewhere in the murky depths of a bog they call maturity,
mingled with responsibility and taxes
and getting a job and raising a family that they
often find doing just as well without them, for rarely
are they ever home long enough
to truly know who
their children will become.

I am a thought, a whisper,
lingering in the back of your mind,
reminding you that you still need to call
your grandmother and tell her "happy birthday,"
since she will soon be beyond the reach of a simple
phone call- seven numbers away- and she will be
soaring over the earth, the round flat disc of the third
dimension that continues its set path around the fiery sphere
in the almost-center of the solar system, and she will
fly through the clouds like dollops of whipping cream and
cut through the stars and galaxies like the freeway,
the highway, cutting through the beautiful country
littered with wild flowers and open fields.
Soon she will be gone,
and you won't be able to tell her
everything you needed to say.