Dreams so real that they
Simply cannot be.
(Fate has a funny sense of humor.)
If only the stars were as close as the moon,
Then we could take them and run,
Hide entire constellations in each other's back pockets and
Hope for the best.
Maybe the grass hasn't died out yet
(So lush, it springs beneath our toes,)
Maybe the blankets haven't blown away and
Notebooks await our painted scribbles.
Maybe these hearts won't be left untold.
Maybe we're already on the path.
Maybe there are some fires that never burn out,
Canyons that never erode and
Hearts that never stop beating.
(Maybe this will still belong.)