Hiding Places

I’ve never seen a meadow in real life,

which makes it the perfect place to hide.

Flowers as tall as my waist,

black eyed susans and orchids

living together in my imagination

like growing conditions don’t matter.

Lavender as far as the eye can see,

swaths of purple overtaking the green.

None of that Kentucky bluegrass bullshit

that you have to mow twice a week.

I want full sun, or moonlight so bright

it might as well be.

I want to dance without

snapping a single stem,

feet so light the wind is

lifting me away as we speak.

I crave a joy so smooth I could drink it,

a life so full I can feel it,

a heart so healthy I can save it.