The Umbrella

I stepped out into the world
with an umbrella tucked
firmly under my arm,
eyes squinting strangely
at the glaring sun,
and shying away from
the black clouds
now on the prowl -
a cadaver wading
through sticky roads
with other sardines
jostling in prying hordes;
until I happened
upon that little sparrow
who darted across to thaw
those long-frozen eyes,
and the yellow butterfly
with moist paper wings
who drew me into
her pretty dance;
and then, suddenly,
my skins, they crumbled,
strides moved to skips,
eyes became water,
hands paper ships,
roads turned to rivers,
and corpses to blips,
and well, the umbrella
was carried home that night,
with some flowers,
stones, fireflies and twigs.