My heart was swimming
in words gathered by the wind.
My voice bounded
into a cloud-carried tomorrow.

My heart trembled
in the moon-swayed mirror.
Soft tears,
spilled with a stream of stars.

Isn't it beautiful?
If we could walk, hand in hand,
I'd want to go
to your town, your home, in your arms.

I dream of being
against your chest,
my body in your keeping
disappearing into the evening.

Words halted by wind are
a gentle illusion.
A tomorrow torn by clouds is
the voice of a distant place.

My heart that had been
in a moon-blurred mirror that flowed,
Those stars that trembled and spilled
cannot hide my tears.

My dream of your face,
that I softly touch,
melts in the morning.

-Tiqah-