“It’s your turn”, you say,
playing alone
among the tiny toys
scattered like colorful mixture of seeds.

Spring is bursting outside.
I see the soft little dreams
open up at the end of
every fine twig.

I remember when
my fingers were
as tiny and as hopeful
as yours.

They knew then
how to caress the invisibles, and
how to bring
the whole universe
into my small mirror.

Those in my mirror were once
my friends,
my enemies,
my gods,
and then painfully grew up
to be myself.

In my mirror today
I see you
nudge your imaginary friends
while the flowers on the trees
stretch their arms
to embrace the voids.

“It’s your turn”.
I hear your laughters
bouncing like flying petals
between the unreachable dreams.

And I say,
“Yes, it’s now your turn.”