Somewhere between the street where she lives and the  countries of her mind,  she stops to think and the weight of it all is heavy and effervescent.  A feather that floated in time and now is carried down by frost to look up to where she has been.

The world is full of magic words

Tied up on golden bobbins round

And held by yellow birds.

You beat the time

And juggle the words

That turn to reading matter.