last seat
of a long, crowded bus,
trying to make sense of
tall trees
irregular clouds
pacing, colorful cars;
stirring stories haga clic aquí
against the wind
with my tiny hand
outside the window,
feet hanging in the air
waiting
to reach the floor.
as they finally touch the ground today,
my hands search my pockets
yearning for some leftover wonder,
trying to make sense
of my own stories
hidden
across distressed forehead lines.