there are only trees
on the way home
filled with creatures
and the dreaming apes
occupying our boxes
   against all
that would destroy us
and from which we came

the air i share is thick
with bloom scents
   in the clarity
only night air allows
air held down inside
the lungs by the gravity
of bonds we do not choose
   but given
to see, or the dreaming
ones for now, in their peace
rest within our stars
   until tomorrow—
discovering in the sun
   as they wake
only the shades of blue

on the way home, little moths
brush their wings against my face
spent from their short lives
   a momentous gift
while a rabbit stops and stares

and all above the dreaming suns
in the larger Dream we weave
   moves on
through the silent void we share
witnessed only by the leaves