Sometimes, a poem is a letter
and this one is for you.

Living your open life
under Irish woolen skies,
dreaming of having
a candle shop by the sea.

"It's a dream that'll
never come true."
you say,
and that may be so.

Still, I can see it.

Latticed windows, on either side
of a deep blue door, a myriad of
little candles, nestled in thick glass jars,
glimmer purple, and beckon to the passerby.

Outside, a salty wind carries on
all by itself, about where it has been,
and where it is going.

You smile at the sound, looking beyond
your quiet thoughts. The blue door opens.
A new friend has just come to see you.