Something like glitter,
and a wish is granted.
But perfection is contained
in a stolen bubble
which bursts itself for the sake of freedom.
Freedom is an island waiting for discovery –
discovery is a circle under a spotlight
and you were in it.
It felt like a moment …
fifteen, they said.
A moment is a whirl,
abandoned in chardonnay, heady on roses.
Above, a mirror-ball like your planet –
reflections of hope and make-believe.
Later there is panic,
a hectic flight –
a flight of steps (perhaps a fall)
and something indelible is left behind
to be told as a story, perhaps a warning.
© Caroline Fox Betts 2010