Clouds overcast;
Light of sun
Seep out.
Atop this hill, us
Below a height
Of canopy-sky.

Thought dreamt.
It drank long
And deep
in sleep.

Sun folds
into a blanket
Of glaring eyes.
As if the stars seemed
To question me:

"Where have you been
In this long dream?"

Always, we have been here
Watching trees grow,
Letting summers pass,
As if waiting
For something.

The folded grass
Reminds us
Of familiarity.

Salt, grass, mud,
Water, earth, air.

The wind
whispers these things
With a steady hand,
Brushing the grasslands
With water. Gently
Leaving its fingerprints
In us.

The shallow pond;
The way it mirrors the sky
Kept us pondering.
Perhaps the sky meant for us
To be more than just lions.
I look into it sometimes to think
how I was unable to see
the stars that night
we drank from it.

Maybe, i'm just not thirsty.

Outside our hill,
the winds
from the White Mountains still blow,
Singing their last verses.
I am starting to forget
the thought of us
being more
than just mere lions.

For T. S.

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal - 01/11/14)