There she is
sleeping sweetly – beneath the crystal moon
blankets of fog encase the roof and keep her safe as she dreams deeply
it’s warm inside her hot cocoon – a universe of its own
if heaven can be like home…
There is no outside. At least not one worth regarding.
Unless it’s to stare as the stars and planets pass them
while eternity winds its way through strange eons
but they stay the same;
never ending and ever tender
These walls confine comfort – fill the bowels of the house
each time a breath leaves her pursed pouting mouth.
To see her sleep happily in the heat of their creation
reminds him that the journey is good, and not to rush to the destination.
He approaches home
taking in the faded yellow house upon the hill
its old bricks stand proudly over the silver city
stars hint at infinity but he already has it
at the top of the crumbling tower – asleep in her golden locks
under clouds that hide them each from time – two faces with no clocks.
Image: Not Here by Eric Zener