Under dark stars and the chill of desert night
they twist and turn in their bed, restless;
their voices crying out—
help me, listen to me, love me
and I do.

And so I sew their tears and worries into the web of my skin
and carry them along with me as I go,

Because I am the dreamcatcher—
who takes nightmares and trades them for dreams,
who breathes in burden and

...holds

                  ...burden

                                        ...in

who seals sorrow within the strings and feathers of his soul
until they disappear at the dawn.

And I weave, weave, weave a web—
until my strings and feathers are heavy
with their doubt, shame, and misery.

And with a sigh, those voices are hushed, quiet like earth;
they travel through the wind, and float to the stars.