Swaying
I’m resting, but also creating.
Stories, stories that flip around.
As if I’m flipping to my back.
But in my hammock.
I am only able to sway and sway…
The ideas sway with me.
Dreamy, yet startling ideas.
My eyes are still closed.
I’m still resting and creating.
I knew I’ll never fall.
In my hammock, nothing ever happens.
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