Dream Seeds

My friend left town today, after

sprinkling

some dream seeds in my heart.

Tonight I'm going over them

with careful eyes and

tender fingertips,

pressing them in a little deeper,

lest the winds of doubt

blow

them away.

 

We cannot be together without magic

sparking--

somewhere in my urban retreat,

or in the words she feeds me

like a meal.

I am sad tonight that she's

gone.

When the last guest leaves is the

moment

that makes my chest

ache.

 

It is easier to wait

for dream seeds to take root

and sprout

when someone paints

a picture of the bloom,

when she

exhales

its fragrance.

 

Tonight I'm staring at dirt.

Trying to remember.

Patience is my skin;

my insides are

words

and

breath.