Sleep unraveling from her soul
She takes his hand.
They walk through a garden
at midnight
Her bare feet sinking into the
lushness of the grass.
The moon plays hide and seek
between the weeping willows.
In the morning, she won’t remember
her dream, but she will remember
a feeling and the residue of moon dust.
In a poem she’ll reflect on
how the stars drew near to her.
In words, those stars become
her constellations.
They are like a million hearts
yearning…. burning.
Her poem reaching back to
the sky. Beckoning –
-Tosha Michelle
Still Another Writer's Blog 