recurring dreams
of faces unknown
who are these gypsies
I don't seem to know

scattered in moments
around my bed
they talk and they dance
and then they take off

I'd love to remember
in color history
I'd love to know
of their mystery

I pull off the sheet
and walk to the moon
finding some peace
thinking of you

I watch you hover
as an evening moth
always close
to kindle my heart

you return me to sleep
and tuck me in light
kiss my hair
then vanish in the night

we are gypsies ourselves
in a sorta kinda way
yet bonded by blood
from that ancient day

that finds existence
in space between matter
of what walks the planet
and what rests in life after