Hear the dreams of the Dreamer
hear the hearts who drum their own beat
hear the cries of wishers on first stars
and the songs of the wind in the wheat.
If wishes were horses I’d race you
through fields of blue-eyed grass
to the edge of the sunset surrounded
by every question that’s never been asked.
I never knew love had no answers
I never knew hope needed loss
I never knew stars prayed for blue skies
and I never knew spring reached for frost.
Mountains say goodbye to rivers
the Sun can’t remember its name
the wanderer wants no place to call home
and the dreamer and the sleeper
are the same.
Photo: "Blue-eyed Grass", by Becky Robbins, Harrison, Maine.