A page,a breath—gone.
a quiet light,
you and I sink to the ocean’s depths,
In the night of the full moon, with only myself.
A council of spirits.
As if in a dream,
One flower in a waking dream.
A quiet Sunday afternoon,
and things resting softly in silence.
In Kyoto, beneath the cherry blossoms,
dreams open their hidden depths — as if they were always leading us toward each other.
When moon meets moon, you and I sway, and sway again.
As if gathering back the stars that had fallen into the deepest hours before dawn.
