In dreams we searched for it,
fantastic fantasies of whimsy that lead
down paths that never knew of potholes
skid-marks, or memory ribbons.
We sang, we danced, and were unafraid
of the tightness in our chest because we knew,
we knew,
it wasn’t illness, or fear,
it was happiness, it was Joy, it was peace.
We simply didn’t care about the loss of abundance
because we took care of the world, it took care of us,
and we inexplicably knew what love meant.
It meant singing and dancing in warm rains,
and the play of muscle under soft skin.
it lived in tears that never fell from sorrow.
It danced in raucous laughter that never died in echo.
We dreamed, and woke,
and swerved cars around potholes and barely glance
at roadside crosses and ribbons
and we miss….we miss it…don’t you see
we miss the whimsy that is still there, because
we can only believe it in a dream,
but it is here.
in the still moments at 4am as eyes gently trace
down a milky white back that is as soft as it looks.
it exists in a kitten’s refusal to sleep when more play can be had.
it exists, when a friend struggles not to cry,
in tight hugs that become trademarks,
in the girl who survived.
It exists in life, in the tightness,
it exists,
wake up.