No one can blow the flame
In your eyes, nor can they fish the dream
Out of your heart.
A dream is a yellow dwarf
Around which many small objects revolve
A solar system of its own
And your spirit is a leaf
That photosynthesizes on the sun
Funneling quanta and streaming
Energy from the source of the heart
To the fingertip sinks.
And one day, we will hold the impossible in our palms,
Knowing then, the tangibility of a dream is only proportional
To the mallets in our palms
That transform to indomitable sledgehammers
On fate’s resilient walls.
