I still go there

I still go there sometimes—

To that other place that’s here but isn’t real.

I run across this grass and duck behind that tree

But I’m a dragon. I am small and blue, icy silver blue,

the color of an ocean wave on a completely sunny day,

frozen suddenly, just as it begins to fall,

blue on the inside, frosty white on the outside,

transparent all the way through.

I have wings, but I’m a young dragon, so I can’t fly yet.

The pointy tips of my wings are pure silver,

As if they’d been dipped in a cauldron of melted coins and candlesticks.

Actually, I’m a water dragon.

If I’m near water, I can control it.

I can make enormous, powerful waves crash

Over the banks of the river and knock a giant to the ground.

I can make rain, so thick you can’t see through it,

To put out a fire set by a jealous pixie.

I can make a frozen pond wherever and whenever I want

So I can ice skate with my friends, even in the summer.

I have many dragon friends, and they have different powers.

We live whole dragon lives. We even die.

The next day, we come back, curled inside a leathery dragon egg,

Where we stay until we are ready to be reborn.

I know it isn’t real. I know I’m getting too old.

But I still want to go there.

The problem is it’s hard to get there by myself.