to the papers flying by me

to the papers flying by me,
carry me. carrying on
to the place i ought to be,
in alleyways and streets,
passing power-lines,
clotheslines,
powerless
and clothed in sun.

paper-made shapes, the breeze,
tracing silhouettes of passersby,
of autumn leaves
made in pen and ink,
children's games.
following,
chasing,
the hide and seek
of city streets.

i envy them and their
symphonies of paperback flight.
but i want to be a mother,
feet on the ground,
a wife,
and a lover
in cotton sheets
where i'll just watch them floating
outside of my window,
just as passion-filled as me.