Flight of Dreams
You stretch your arms, palms held out the way you reach
into the chambers of my heart, once lush, velvet with
dreams of my own, so many unspoken, now pale as
the last hint of evening light.
The sun has dropped low over
the old black barn, weathered by hundreds of
days just like this one.
The sweet grass and Queen Ann’s lace
return each summer from an imaginary sleep;
who would have guessed that an uncultivated carrot
could dream itself into such gauzy white lace,
nodding in the slow breeze, they sense,
like you do, a certain current in the air.
Others might shrug, if they noticed at all
or understood the flight of dreams.
I watch you gather up the breeze, rise into the veiled
yellow pink light and smile, knowing
that the magic in your heart is enough.
That you will defy this life of mortal gravity
the way only you can.