Possible

The last 

train home.

I wait 

patiently 

knowing 

I missed it.

The light

night

breeze sings

in my ears.

It conducts

a symphony 

and a plastic

bag dances

up into

the sky

and back

down.

As if

to show 

me the 

impossible

is indeed

the possible. 

I sit for 

a bit 

enjoying

the moment

of stillness 

except 

for the 

bag dancing

in the air.

The possible 

is floating 

in my head.

So clearly

that I don't

dare move.

If I do

it will

dance away.

So I sit 

and study

the possible

because 

that has always

been 

my name.

The 

possible. 

I just needed

a moment 

to remember.