impossible, no dream beyond one's reach.
Rain washed the atmosphere of all the
dusty doubt this afternoon repairing balance
to the molecules and now that night
has fallen, even tiny animals and insects
make their way into snug places to
enjoy anticipated rest. I envy them the
tightness, closed in by the comfort and
the warmth of other bodies. When I go to sleep
tonight the room that welcomes me will
be already black and still, with looming space
beneath the covers. But whether gracing skies
outside my window or lighting vaguely all
the treasured objects I can barely see as
eyes embrace the darkness, the moon still
smiles and whispers words of hope that
there are dreams, my dreams, yet unfulfilled.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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