Imagination swirls around
The tips of my fingers, branches.
Colors dark and bright
Dance along the edge of my hands.
Fading like seasons,
Summer the most vibrant,
Winter the most dull.
My tiny ballet slippers
Leap from page
To page in my book.
Or my tiny tap shoes,
Tapping on my desk,
Tapping on my desk,
Spinning in the air above,
Doing what fingers do best.
Being my passage from
Thoughts in my mind,
To thoughts in other minds.
A translator,
A teacher,
A learner,
A leader.
My tiny dancers caress over my paper,
With my pencil,
Writing sweet lullabies.
My tiny faces
Saying anything they need to say,
Adapting in to animals,
After the moons awakening.
My fingers are anything, everything
I want them to be.