There’s a sparrow in the apple orchard
Sipping dandelion wine,
Singing of a memory,
A dream I had, that you were mine.
There’s a tulip in an onion field,
A sane word in a Van Gogh print
Seen only by dark eyes that hold
Fiery sparks from virgin flint.
There’s a dewdrop on a spider’s web,
That glistens in the setting sun
A whisper from the checkered past
That all we are can be undone.
There’s a heartbeat in the catacomb
A sign of life beyond the pale
A furtive breath, a wistful sigh,
To set the course and fill the sail.
There’s no answer, there’s no sound at all,
No voice, just echoes in the dark;
Who else could know but you and I:
It is from here that we embark.
Published in this month’s issue of The Wagon Magazine.