The quietest of times,
that gradient moment where orange gives
way to green, green yields to blue, and
blue surrenders deeply to black,
the stars presiding over all like
little crystal snowflakes-
those layers, evening or dawn, are the
quietest of colors,
a visual gateway into the sleeping and the
waking of the world,
a song that dances in my head like a symphony
that only my ears can hear-
notes penned by memory,
by experience,
and by the dreams which have yet to
those tones ring broad, and rich, and deep,
breaching the boundaries of the horizon-
our lives seem to begin and end at the
tree line,
contained only within the part of the world
that we can see with the naked eye-
dreams tend to wither with our line of
and disappear completely when they can
no longer be seen-
how many stars rest quietly in the black,
invisible to earth, but thriving nonetheless?
they live, plentiful and real,
discharged of doubt and worry-
the calmest blue reminds me that
dreams surpass the boundaries
of the tree line,
well beyond the limits of the unknown,
thriving endlessly past the boundaries
that we so inevitably create*


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