She lifts her face …
She says she can touch the sky,
So it is she that scatters these clouds
abandoned in a long-ago last goodbye.
There’s a story by Pasternak,
“He let go of my hand,”
Tanya says with tears in her eyes,
“and I was lost!” I am this man.
And this one, she walks out of canyon lands,
clenched by roots of evergreens,
Into the surf of an ocean that carries
the scent of another far into her dreams.
And she says to me,
“…as high as I could never reach before,
I could touch the sky;
glide my hands through constellations
and move the stars to reflect in the gaze of others…”
lighting lanterns in their hearts.
