I can tell you
about hands in soil
and the amber looking glass
And I can tell you
about long dark hallways
and how to turn fears into friends
Waiting in the garden
for the veil to thin
Sparkling stones
In the hands of a child
As cooing morning doves and chimes
Lilt and drip into the night-ink
of ghost owls and cricket whispers
The sleepwalker
stargazing
from the undergrowth