Poetry: Under The Starlight

For a lady who is not yet named x

Dreams are small and kissable things

That start as ideas clouds and moonshine

And slowly twinkle under the starlight

Until they become as real as you and I

Which is to say that while some dreams are always new

Small things that feel fragile breeze-blown and will wisp away

And break apart like little bubbles blown from dish soap at a picnic

Pop and we dreamers are rudely awakened full only of yearning

To once again be untouched and in the starry night

Those are only some dreams

The best dreams are not made of stardust and moonbeams

In truth the best dreams grow in trees planted in gravel rich soil

Where dirt lies thick under the gardener’s fingertips

He loves all his dreams for their own unique sake and each tiny seed

Is a star in the dark and watery night of muddy rich earth

And each one grows and grows from that tiny flickering dream into a mighty and tall tree

Bearing one day overflowing fruit that makes rich wine

Once more to give rise to drunken dreams whispered under warm blankets

Under starlight by the gardener and her wife

With all my love,

Marie Athena

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