Dream Life

                                               I met the moon for coffee it was Tuesday night I think when he watched me hardly sleeping and invited me for drinks we found ourselves a table in the middle of the night whilst the constellations twinkled like a thousand fairy lights he asked me how I'd been as he poured coffee from a pot and he said he'd watched me waking up at midnight quit a lot I said my head was far too full my mind was always on and when I woke, it felt as if I was the only one the only one who watched the moon whilst sitting on my bed with thoughts that raced at lightning speed around my busy head the only one who watched the clock tick one and two and three who lay awake and worried whilst the world was fast asleep my thoughts remained in orbit and I couldn't pull them back as they preferred to swim against a sky so vast and black the moon said sim...

                                             i know right now you feel broken like a pile of shattered glass. as though your wishes are all strewn like dandelion seeds in the grass. i know you feel like a snowflake tumbling wildly on its fall. you had hoped for a soft landing but you're still swept up in it all. bur your dreams aren't birthday candles that you have one chance to blow. and failure isn't permanent- it just gives you room to grow. the earth has its tragedies too, but it's still a beautiful place. just look at all the miracles staring you right in the face: broken windows can be repaired. brand new dandelions can sprout. and flames can be reignited even when you blow them out. it's the world's way of telling you you're going to be just fine. all you have to do is give it a bit of time.

                                                           I'd write love letters to the earth, whisper them to the wind, Fold them into paper boats, And find a stream to sail them in, I'd write of beautiful sunrises, of the oranges and pinks, While I sit beside the seashore, Where the waves can smudge my ink, I'd write these words on paper, But for paper I need trees, Like many things mankind has made, But doesn't really need, And so our letters to the earth, Leave less love than they do scars, When we write them in our blinding light, That block out all the stars,

                                                        I do not love you as if you were salt rose , or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret , between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when , or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I Know no other way than this: where I does not exist , nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.