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"Drift" By Nuala Alvord

Nine little pools,
peaceful and sedentary
with nothing to disturb them,
no one to move them,
no one to interact with their
inanimate lives.

Nine little pools
dappled and gray
from ever-still water.

Nine little pools.
Nine big dreams
when the moon’s reflection
appears on their shining surface.

Their minds
                    drift
                           drift
                                  drift
                            into a world of
                       big
                  big
           BIG
dreams....

The first pool (the largest) dreamed
that he was a single drop of water,
floating in an empty world and
enjoying being small for once.

The second pool dreamed that he was a puddle,
slowly collecting rain
as children stomped through him,
giggling.

The third one dreamed that
she was a stream,
flowing pleasantly
through a forest and watching
as trees reached high above her.

The fourth pool dreamed that he was a river,
spraying fresh water
against rocks
that choked the gap
between mountains.

The fifth dreamed that she was a stormcloud,
rain poured down from her and
sprayed the grass below lightly
with morning dew.

The sixth dreamed that
he was a pond,
lily pads and dragonflies
filled his swampy mass.

The seventh pool dreamed
that he was a lake,
children splashed and played with joy
on his shores.

The eighth pool dreamed that he was a sea,
watching the two huge masses of land on his either side
and feeling his waves hit rocky
clusters piled around
him.

Finally, the ninth pool (the smallest) dreamed
that she was an enormous ocean,
her waves crashed and sprayed salty water into the sky
and seagulls screeched above sailboats that bobbed across her.

Soon, when the moon had
disappeared from their motionless water,
The pools’ minds began to
                    drift
                           drift
                                  drift
                            into a world of
                       big
                  big
           BIG
dreams....

The next morning they continued their
everyday routine, talking and telling each other stories.

And even though they might have just been
nine little pools on the wooden floor of a museum,
and the moon was simply a lightbulb above,
their dreams stayed real, even if they were tiny drops of water or
an enormous ocean.


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