sighing aloud these golden fireflies

lights alive there in opened halves

of you and day and desire

and my concious floating quietly

downstream on remaining bits of fallen leaves

and silent tears shed for spoken beauty

for lips freeing nighttime truths

too old and useless to youth and beauty

are the thoughts he tossed around

but she dreamed of the silver the blue

at peace within himself

unknown in the ones newly bloomed

the intuitiveness he wore so easily

the vitality and adoration of life

and living it fully

no bonds there of years or rules

oh, yes, she knew it wasn't hers

to love, to keep, to hold

but better tiny knives within joy

than none at all in half-life

better dreams with wings of impossibility

than clipped and grounded assurances

she chose to glide, to seek, to climb

for when so high so small became

time and place and ages

those shackled dreams

from up here

she believed again in hope and peace

and the flight of her dreams