Nothing happens unless we dream it

Poetry is the sea mammal who loves the land

The man who wants to fly

Unaccompanied by engines

The regret we have at words not said

Under the summer moon 

When she looked so pretty

Like a  flagrant crimson flower

With the power to subdue

We, who lurk in the dusk

Smelling the beautiful musk roses

With the wild red leaves,

We love with little hands, gently,

Rolling over a thousand memories

Asking such beautiful, unanswerable questions.