On the golden stairs hands received
seagulls of space
flying between stars
wing-tip to wing-tip.
The past,
she held her secrets
letting them go one by one
into a garden of possibilities,
planted by you.
Snippets of memories
always hovering so near.
As the sun set,
the wind blew softly
whispering her real name,
and the lullaby began her search
on the blank white page of innocence.
Deep within,
the path wandered,
and the mouth asked a silent question.
No one answered,
so the wind blew gently
and carried the lullaby home.
