I dream
as a flower,
opening
in waves
as I open
the pages
of a book,
I bloom
between
dreams
and reality
while in
sips of tea,
the people
I walk past,
they too,
are beings
of water
in the  
oceans of
the mind,
visitors of
the earth,
stars are
in the words
they speak
within the
the ease
of the
midnight
hour, the
propeller
seeds lift
for the
moon in
the eyes
they held
for one
another,
it is in
presence,
the depth
in the
quiet
longing
to only
read
of the
secrets
of love
I, the
writer,
wish to
sing to
them,
“all the
unsung
is, by
the sight
of the
heart,
sung
forever”,
so then,
all the things
they behold
become
as they are,
wondrous.