Within the holy tome of breath
open to the sky's watch,
the dropping-down stars
consort with the bubblegum
and comic books of my old belief.
Under this cloth of pink air,
who listens as I dream,
beating my thoughts into words,
while not even birds awake?
Time takes me forward
as I come screeching back,
my talons whipping clouds into rain
and my innocent eyes alive.
Fragile, like a leaf the paper tears,
darned to the fabric of time
with ancient, wizened, invisible hands
that gather pages I will write, new.