Untitled - January 10, 2002

I would hope to
fly me to the moon,
to catch a moonbeam in my hand,
to play amongst the stars
'til the sun rose across the land.

I would surround the gossamer moonlight
in a basket of pure silver -
then wait for burnishing sun/gold
of the morning rays
to cradle each other;
as does the day would to the night.

Each bright smile
liquefies to a spot of warmth
that covers this silver/gold basket
of happiness.