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to tip the moon over
with silver desire
wings where stars
used to gleam
darkness rocks gentle
the cradle of soul
– canopy stitched
of dragonfly dream

shades of imagine
we fitted with glass –
sails of whisper and lace
cedar white oars
cut ribbons of black –
as streams
 sought the night –
our fault to erase

the magical mistress
of wonder made real –
storybook telling
of where we might go
just past the edge
of all they had warned
is a world made
of nothing
we know

. . .