Reaching

All day long

I reach out to
an apple on a tree
my water bottle in the backseat
the branch in our backyard pointing 
toward us like a dagger
that hasn't fallen.
Yet.
ice in the middle of the windshield
an invisible child 
in the passenger seat 
when I have to break suddenly
the back of the ballet studio when I arabesque
that book I want to write
waiting
for me to sit down;
stop reaching.

*poem inspired by Mary Oliver’s “Where Does The Temple Begin, Where Does It End?”