What the Moon Promised the Firelight

July 26, 2017

There are dragons

sleeping in his mind

waiting to be awakened

each night by the stories

I read to him

at bedtime.


There are seeds of sequoia trees

invisible but there

on the palms of his little hands

waiting to be planted

in a forest I cannot see

but I know is there

somewhere in his life and future

where he is destined to walk

and realize the great things

he is capable of

if he can dig little holes on the earth

and have a little faith

and give it a little time.


There are legends

hovering in his sky

like endangered eagles,

pirate ships and seven seas,

love that can move mountains,

warriors and victories,

desert dunes and miracles

that shimmer in the sun.

He looks at me when

I say the words, their names

and all things possible

take shape inside his heart,

my little one who

has yet to see the world,

who has yet to make head or tail

of where the wings should go

or whether man can fly.

He believes instead

in every magnificence

that I speak of.

He gathers them like feathers

from the rising and falling

of my voice.

The light in the hall

is the color of lullabies.

People’s reasons are soft

and fold like blankets.

He is asleep before

each happy ending.

I hold his dreams reverently

under the hushed stars.


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