the stories that made me
Every night
I hang my prayers
by the side of your beds
like little lanterns
that you can carry
to the farthest
edges of your dreams.
Onward fearlessly
my brave knights.
Come back victorious,
riding the horses of dawn,
with the morning sun
rising behind you.
I’ll be waiting
with pancakes.
At the bottom of the hill
in the shade
of the bare oak tree
we stood
shouting our names
into the distance
and catching the echoes
as they returned,
like boomerangs,
into our soft, bare hands
while that mighty tree,
ancient and undisturbed,
wrapped the autumn breeze
around its naked branches
like a scarf.