Last night
I heard you get up
and followed you
as you quietly,
holding your paintbrush,
slid open the garden door
and walked out.
From behind the curtain
I spied on you
as you dipped
your brush
into the full moon
and painted a white ladder
from the grass
upwards to the stars,
then tucked your brush
into your pajama pocket
and began to climb.
The next morning
you kissed me awake
and in your smile
I could see
a million secrets.