I have a pen. The pen has a miffy rabbit.

I have a piece of paper. The paper is wrinkled and sits beside foggy family photos.

I have a word. The word is stuck at the tip of my tongue and I write it down.

I have a cup of tea. The tea spills over my white desk and my word diffracts into inky rivers.

I have a brush. The brush is worn and soaks up the tea.

I have a hand. The hand has a double jointed thumb and enjoys painting.

I have a rock. The rock is jagged and holds down a canvas. It is the magical remnant of a third grade fantasy.

I have a memory. The memory is distant and young and looks like a rabbit hole.

I have a book. The book is hardcover and titled Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

I have a body. The body is left behind as the mind falls down a rabbit hole.

I have a bookshelf. The bookshelf has lots of a rabbit holes, lots of worlds.

I have a world. The world is imaginary and full of words.

I have a word. The word is dream.

I have a piece of paper. The paper is soaked and lets me write.

I have a pen. The pen has a miffy rabbit.