Sitting on the floor

sitting on the floor

the walls around dissolve into distant fog and mist

carpet is grassy meadow

chair is gentle hill

table is far-off mountain

a river appears, watering the forest that sprouts unbidden 



and toys are family, 15 minutes a lifetime of playing and working 

	and eating and talking in a world that constantly 

	bends and flexes to match the capricious desires of the moment

a three-foot body kneels on the floor; stillness in constant motion,

	a sponge-like mind absorbing and releasing

	as the spider of the mind sins its ever-growing web of order

	and connections and relationships



the river is now a road;

imaginary cars deliver their imaginary passengers hurriedly to and fro

table becomes a massive bus station bustling with thousands of commuters

	and travelers swarming under its grand canopy

chair legs form a sturdy tunnel

carpet reforms into a host of roadside attractions

the distant fog burns off to reveal a brilliant panorama of the most 

	amazing sights and scenes imaginable by the mind of the two-year-old

	boy in front of me

sitting on the floor