“Isn’t it sad that our voices can only go so far?”
Those are the words I remember, so we
built a lantern to hold our hopes and fears.
Fragile as it was, it was the only
star that Tuesday night, condensed from dud tears.
Wouldn’t it be nice if our voices, as
they are, could reach the edge of the world without
fading? Maybe then you could hear me, worlds
apart as we are, one step from Eden.
If our voices could reach the world’s edge, what
words should we send there? A promise? In black
or gold? “If I make a wish, at least part
of it will come true,” I wanted to write.
When did I become unable to look
those words in the eye? Was it the day our
lantern fell? Our dreams spilled forth gold as a
swarm of summer butterflies, red as eyes.
So let’s meet once more on the plain where clouds
gather. We’ll clap each other’s hands, nameless,
under a sea of dream lanterns and set,
together, our lantern on fire.