Silent as the moment her eyes open
from that intangible dream.
She doesn't remember what its theme,
but wakes up pleasant.

She looks out the window
and sees Autumn's last wry grin.
Contorts her body to get all the sleep out
and greets the day, with her eyes yet closed.

She adores Saturdays.
Blank templates imploring her for purpose.
She only needs to pluck a journey from the rafters
And elope with it.

She lays it all out--
Still in the clothes of night.
Television blaring
the lives others lead.

And still she remains
on cotton intentions
At this moment, her mind far from her,
escaping on the trip she's always planned.