Dreaming Still

In a place where stardust dreams,

stoke fires too hot for the touch starved;

come melted wings of pixie dust,

in the heights where our stars

are carved.

In a million illumined wishes from earth, like fireflies eluding capture;

they're a gossamer flight,

on the tail of a kite,

swept up in a blazoned rapture.

Arisen against a curtain of black,

and strewn with surprising twist,

constellations once pressed of diamond ore, bleed in a scarlet mist.

Ember flecks and stippled burn,

are the remnants of fear we allay;

by seeing in rust, the color of trust,

out from the ash of decay.

Tender things and renderings,

our falling stars display,

knowing that with the fire, it brings,

a sun who governs the day.

In stardust light of paper white

there rubs a revelatory burn;

in perfect space between

still and flight,

is a place where dreams return.

*Credit photo: D.M. Yope

Butterfly installation/ATX