She looked west and found forever.
Drew a map there with her eyes –
verdant pools like olive seas,
stormy from remembered lies.
Drips a portrait, paints with pain –
she and I above the fray –
uses sunrise as her brush,
dares to hope another day.
Points her gaze to north of always
Auroras dance the end of night.
I join in, without direction,
win a smile, however slight.
Limpid lights of lightening skies
point in passion-painted pink,
past the greying edge of daybreak
to a star yet indistinct.
Smile now fading, she looks north
to a solitary star.
“Orion,” say I, gaped in wonder.
“No, that’s hope, but it’s too far.”
“Hope’s for taking not for wishing,”
I reply, though not with scorn.
“Then let’s grab some, ‘cause I’m weary,
and I need to see the morn.”
Pupils dilate as we travel
starlight blinding as we run,
holding hands like fevered children
towards our newly dawning sun.
Incandescence growing brighter,
as she stops to kiss me words.
Then she tiptoes, whispers secrets,
futures fly like winged birds.