The whispers of a thousand ladybugs
Caught in a strand of sunbeam
Became slurred
One more White Russian
Sloshed down and stirred
In the belly of that brilliant star
Gave birth to sweet summer
The seventh month, day five
Seemed silent in comparison to the night before
Where blasts became a long drone
And drowned out that roaring train
Which would (on any other night)
Rattle the blinds of this small home
We see that it is soon to be emptied
And even more quickly, after,
To be full once more
We are at the crossroads
Of interspace and matter
But those thousand tiny wings
Kick up dust off our old albums and memory boxes
And leave them hanging there
Suspended in threads of light
Such big eyes we have
All the better to dream with
Sleepwalkers, forevermore