I was getting older. I was getting taller.
I reached on tiptoe to the railing,
the top shelves and the light bulbs.
I touched the ceiling with my hands, painted it pink.
To make it warmer.

I was growing. I radiated sunlight,
I was reflected in the mirror for eternity.
And the bunnies that fell from the ceiling 
Exploded in a myriad of colors
And words. 

I became wiser. I began to write poetry;
Then I made boats out of paper
and set them out on the water. And slowly alongside
I counted the steps with my feet. I crumpled the grass.
And sang along.

That spring I stopped growing.
The seasons/parts of the day changed.
But I did not. I locked myself in a cage,
counting the rabbits
jumping down from the ceiling.

My light dissolved. 
My eyes faded. 
I remember the pink ceiling. 
Sunshine bunnies.
And …