My dear, spry Robin
perched between natures door-way
plucky little thing

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Gather ‘round tree-stumps
we perform the rite of dreams
beneath falling stars

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Moonbeams kiss where Sun-
beams fade. we pass through Twilights
hour, hands tightly entwined

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I reach for your warmth
your dreamless mumbles tickle
the back of my neck

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We cannot help but
giggle at the company
of strangers’ kindness

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Off the beaten track
we find paths that lead nowhere
yet everywhere, both

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Beckoned, by sacred
denizens of the woodlands
leave no trace behind