She crawled inside the night to wait
as the sun sunk low, all of her warm
colors followed her down to the sea.
Like music, she heard them go – sun
and her bright yellows and reds – drums,
full orchestra as she bowed her head.
The oranges, peaches, and pinks
danced across the stage, violins echoed
their softer song, and then dropped
with the wind. Only piano remained,
clear and blue, and indigo inked the sky
as day let go – and silence.
And, for so many nights, this is when
the stars would come. The keeper would
release them, one by one. He’d watch her eyes
as stars transformed the blue, and the blue
of her eyes drew the stars inside. And in her sky
he’d draw magical things, and that is what
her heart was made of. But one night, the keeper
never came, and stars began to disappear.
Others claimed to see them still, but her sky was dark.
Deep inside her the magic never returned –
a heart without a keeper, a sky without the stars
Talking to the Clouds 