The old mare would lollop back to the gate
As if to say to me I cannot wait...
Silent voices echo
in the corridors...
Tucked away safely
within a closet...
In the garden of my dreams
Lilacs run free for miles...
America is in our cereal bowls
and on our T.V.s...
tears tore me
dripping dropping...
What I turn myself into for others is unhealthy:
I’d give my last drop of blood for a pinprick...
Mossy forest,
have you ever dreamt of me...
I am in awe of the translation of your eyes
from forgotten languages of dreams...
One needs to reflect
into the others to get...
The horizon ahead is painted with gold.
Waves of fuchsia and lilac meet...
she cradles darkness, for
her tears crystalize...