the spaces in between memory

we are weighed down by a yellow balloon
that will never exist.
it floats between
a land with a castle
and a land with a palace;
like a butterfly
that ties our past
and future
together
-with strings of dead air.

lights out

it's for you that the stars in the night sky
become insomniacs
and fight sleep's
overprotective suffocation.
you stand beneath them
talking to the universe
at the same time
as a sleepless budgie
two floors down;
softly.

Reborn

She flew from one end of the world to the other,
with hair turning auburn in the autumn sun;
a voice like the eldest of the children of Lir
- just to bid him goodnight.
To whisper with him the secrets
about where swans come to that little island from,
as the leaves turn
and pirouette
into the water
like
Russian ballerinas.