I whisper this poem with sigh.
moving at dusk of clouds.
Roads take me
on pathway
where heart grows heavy
and footsteps slow.

From where he hides that someone
I’ve searched for?
Is he behind stars,
near flower not yet bloomed?
On road the self less travels?
Or perhaps he’s mythical with no form
making absent to eyes.

Whispers of prayer leave lips
to land on leaf
for gentle breeze to gift an angel.
Perhaps then
dream will touch reality,
as I do rest
below a moon bells song.