Where are you my dear;
wandering somewhere
to chase feathers in the wind?
Within a spacious dream
you must have lost your way.
Perhaps you’ve misplaced
the key, the doorknob,
or even the entire door
that opens to the garden
of flowers who love you.
We are knocking on time-
crying hope across a canvas.
Each day we become
a fresh landscape for you
to sketch yourself into.
As crescents of cinnamon
glisten like shiny marbles
shot out of a wet hand
on a rainy day,
we hold our breath.
Anticipating recognition.
And wishing we had gazed more often
into your sweet eyes
when we had the chance.
So now on edge, we wait
for Noni butterfly to land.
Beautiful poem!
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