whiskey and alfalfa

whiskey and alfalfa sprouts join hands for a dance around the fire and i think maybe, just maybe, poison makes for the best medicine...healing hands and wandering toes trace out clouds in seafoam as words fumble for clarity in a fuzzy world...i turn to look behind and find only me looking up at myself...little girl still, with hands in her pockets, staring at the moon...but now the lines on my face show a blueprint of my smile...well worn by cycles of watery change...dripping, slipping from my fingers...lessons wash over my footprints leaving only an open expanse with no traces of travel...fear can crash like waves on rocks, leaving clean polished stone naked and sparkling in vulnerable moonlight...breath of wildflowers in blood flowing outward, from the heart...building roots in cloud compost and teething on toes as i sit here beside you...i shift my eyes and squint past the sillouhette of your hair in the lamplight...now shines through cracks in the floorboards of yestermorrows, making old dust on new surfaces shine in moonlight bathed harmonies...stepping out to stretch my weary limbs in excited stardust i find worn out shoes and fresh paint meld in mirage mirror images to form polaroids with soft edges...cowboy boots and running shoes paint canvas while dawgs leave muddy prints on ball room floors...when time slows up and speeds down enough we can all remember to forget