Days

I climb the front steps of my house,
to gather the footsteps of strangers
in my small bowl.

It rains.

I go to carnival, testing out my lesser known shadows,
and cross the carnie- line for a few days.

I dream.

Can I hold anything in these hands?
Can these fingers unpick the birds nests my sleep-weaving has created?
Is there an answering hand to take in the crossing?

I am spinning on this globe, as it spins almost imperceptibly.