sitting inside the air loom,
weaving my fingers through the rippling warp,
a little song sung by each traveling strand

and today I've woven a tapestry of fantastical someone
and his warm, calm regard
and the open walls he builds
to complement the light

sitting inside the garden spaceship,
the sky in my eyes and the jungle at my back,
whispering sweet exhalations against the wide windshield

I fly into a story of fantastical someone
and he's climbing over mountains to see what he finds
and his open heart is a mouth and an eye
open and scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a memory of mine