The sun spills over the horizon,
a slipstream of time and whittled light,
and falls onto my outstretched arms,
as I stretched them forth to gather
a filament of ichor and verse

My feet gleam the surface of sapphiric waters,
the silence still and rippling with the
clouds of morning,

Each day, the earth awakens to punctuate
my lungs and my words, to hold up a mirror
to my rootless reflection, and

I watch the sun rise and rise again
on my thoughts as dawn paints them
in the whistling hues of mauve and mazarine,

I feed them millet, folding them into
paper cranes and collared doves,
setting them free into halcyon skies

They stream, light-footed, somewhere
above the cloud, eyes to the sun with
a mouthful of gilded light

I know not when they should return
but with my menagerie over open seas,
I have birthed the world of my dreams

Sher Ting has lived in a land of eternal summer, otherwise known as Singapore, for 19 years before spending the next 5 years in medical school in Australia. She has work published/forthcoming in Eunoia Review, Opia Mag, Overheard, TunaFish Journal and Door Is A Jar, among others. She is currently an editor of INLY Arts and The Aurora Journal. She tweets at @sherttt and writes at downintheholocene.wordpress.com