(Written in 2014, this poem describes my reaction as a four-year-old every time my dad looked at me, amused, and said, "Danielle, I think your imagination is running away with you again.")
Is running away with me--
They say that to me all the time,
And every time they say it,
I cannot help but see a thing
That climbs in through the window,
And grabs me by the waist and dashes
Over field and meadow,
Farther far and still away
Until I cannot see
Where it has vanished in the hills
With a very helpless me.
And never and ever again will I
The thing and myself see.