Puddle purposes by soaking feet: true.
Flooding silver-lines by reflecting trees: too.
Or, what if there is a world below, one about which I am the first to know?
Where climbing to the top leads to a burrow and falling turns to floating—I want to visit pre-tomorrow.
Then, again, it could be a worry if this other place would turn that which I adore into that which I abhor.
Let me hire an aleconner to scout this mysterious pool. If they can grade worst beers, this ground drink should be cool.
I wonder if I will need a grubstake for this expedition to the mirrored scene. Roaming a new city with empty pockets is not a situation of which I am keen.
Heart urges the square part of me that the risk of a trek on the other side is one in which I should partake—even if it flips sweetest there-been into bitter cocoa cake.
Whether here is real or mirages do, whether dreams are open or Earth is closed, whether branching out or sinking in, whether growing up or falling down—I need to have both for life’s balanced sound. : )