A dream made a star and placed in a dark, empty sky
that has lost the treasures that it was born with.
A dream in Veronica’s face, and eyes I can make suns
on a world that grows green now, after the war.
Glad to see her, and steal some talk, words I can make
the moon, the sheered out sister keeping me stable,
as the massive black hole in the center of my heart,
ever tries to pull me to the place where there is no light.
I say goodnight, and keep her close, the sun lighting
the ashen forests returning from the war and it’s fires,
tender shoots and buds, that I hope will flower, and perfume
a world of gardens, a shard of Eden, maybe sealed with her kiss.