They say I wander with a sigh, capriciously,
a cloud walker.
There is thought in clouds, density,
& I visit often my place in a cumulus nook.
A mind bemused by words & images like
lying on my back watching the sky cast
elephants & roses & imaginings.
Someone once said, with flat tone,
“You are one of the only people I consider truly free.”
The dams in nimbus, barred galaxy grey chin deep.
I know this as well as someone.
Elizabeth York Dickinson received her MFA in writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her poetry and photography are published or forthcoming in Gravel, Foliate Oak, Kissing Dynamite, Royal Rose, Ghost City Review, Riggwelter and Ink in Thirds, among others. She currently resides in Evanston, Illinois. Follow her on Twitter @aworldwanderer.