how many dreams have we conjured
relaxing ‘neath a tree in the shade
cut into whispers and satellite pictures
waking to the rising moon again
how many stars have we wished on
fearing the frozen moment would fade
folded like paper into a ship
set sail across a puddle in the rain
how many mornings have we woken
with the memory of a dream in the eye
swept away like many broken leaves
blowing softly along an aging, autumn sky
how many moments have i wondered
between our first breath and last sigh
as we lead ourselves to a six foot hole
how many different tears will we cry
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