Draw this light deeply
from the well of yesterdays
to nourish our dreams

My dream is not white
as paper, my dream is not
black, as these ink spilled
thoughts, my dream is not
colorless, refracted as light
through my sunlit tears

the daylight declines
to linger as the leaves fall
away with the wind

They started counting worlds
by what they treasured - making
themselves first - in fortunes  
diluted in their ignorance

They continued counting
their bubble skipped the middle
one  - nobody knew who lived  
behind the invisible walls

They stopped counting
the last one as tragedy played
cruelly with abundance
measured in beauty  

They forgot the world(s)
uncounted by their touch -  
where their contrails only trace
across an open sky