microcosms of forest

sleeping in my arms, my children 
once
held me highest 
going down the slide together
holding hands not just to cross the street
starng
endlessly into one 
another's eyes. every night
i told each daughter
a new story as they grew
and their hair shined. 
boxes cannot contain their art,
the world is too small.
our microcosm
remains, as a water bear,
in glacial retreat
toward the starry ocean. 
my heart has no crass excuse
other than to 
pump the sun into a nice warm ball
which we roll, roll,
roll and laughing chase.