when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,
fall slow,
so I m falling slow
like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.
the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.
I roll to face the wall
and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.
the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.
how many dreams forgotten?
I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words
floating through clouds like roses,
I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.