...I wish I could have this self back

I only have to surrender the tip of a pen
and a deserted plaza
bursts vastly with balloons –
sky-borne globes
swimming in a universe
of linen grass,
and charmed voices
who cling to colors
that move in strings
of candy-colored laughter.
The light, too, would come blinking,
catching not winged moths
but a pair of eyes –
dancing and fluttering
on orange and red dresses;
joining yellow to yellow,
white to white,
and with sudden sight –
a room stretching infinitely
on an island of fiery capes.