If I could see your dream as often as you,
Like some gray wispy old water portrait.
Tinged maroon and old green while you sit quiet,
Your eyes skimming some mirage water horizon,
Your girl fingers holding each other like sweet pinches.
Ankles crossed with barefeet on mother moss,
You practiced and saw across a far time with prairies.
Bending, turning a sweet love will, seeing our best,
Planning to be our creations child, quiet, pensive.
Tendering for today and making it grow,
Simple complexity appealing my need and love,
Teaching love of our own circle of creatures,
A slip of tiny feather makes a world of character,
A baby breath is as a concert, each bit a riot of sound,
Each song a life wish looking for each's audience,
A caress of any part, a meshing, to fit each emptiness,
Your heart, your sweet heart. a full lip meaning given.
Why did you grow up? It was meant for us to see.
Some unknown artist without sound wrote
me a beautiful song that I yet long to sing.