as in,

a girl, in green, a stair case, and a mosaic. I want to cover the light, an echo or planning each new shoot sprouting figure back, backed by lake-scented bubbles, slick shining, awkward ambling like whistles that rewind on the wind. I want to go lolling among fuchsia, dolls on display, doorknob turning over in time. A clue holds fast, a series, donuts or rainbow falter against the shimmer, languid scorn. I want to derive an orange operation, a tale or emotion in a bottle. I want to list each clue like a candle hanging from the end of a sword, sharp and melting.