Princess

~A moment, old tree song ago, floor by cove heard her welling, missed, scent pour upon the sands. The tandem and harmonious bow knot within you that bells the sea. Waves of doves leaning in the cradle of shoes. Sounding sand refounding angel. Love as light. Gathering brother’s eyes in eyes. Seeing jade in quartz glass, finding truth in sunrise, seeing clay made in bread, seeing wade in tread. Paving a life sparkler fanned eye, a life to adore as dreams lead. Looking to the sky. A nova crisscrossing humbling white. Prim roses of crystal cathedrals. Still stars of music, showing spark, the shore bless depth. A rose, from high shelf. Laking the glassed light of the sun. Chrysanthemum sea. Singing sunlight. To the shores of what you are, to those beautiful tumbling shores. The room suddenly becomes so quiet. All the titles of books, pictures on covers blend into a glossy reflection. Becoming rows of squares on shelves becoming rows of squares on wood. The carpet tells a story. The clear path that has led me here and I am before the most beautiful sight I have never seen. Spun in braids the hay that was made into gold. Upon onyx as if a barcode of music had been made into waves woven like a yarn bracelet of threads. Strong. The gold wire my mother taught me to make roses with. Silver threads holding almonds strung. A brush through a waterfall wicking teardrops of water as if the wind was blowing glass loops onto white yarn glued onto a poster board painted blue through pleated copper stars. The presence of clarity moves verdance. A hundred feathers spilling on curves of sleighs in scroll. Endlessly returning slope of knoll cursive as written love in Christmas lights. The lady, sweet lady, she is sleeping. A harpsichord. Her skin so cocoa, so cocoa, she shines. A lamp post through a misty night. A star in a glass box. Bracelets of bright pink, watermelon, terrycloth blue. Gold. The wind had filled up thin straw bands into rainbows made of jade. Painted pearls of plastic. They have the charcoal that winds across. Seashells pink on a white beach. Hilled of a cone of a flame. Candles color a camisole. Her earrings carry lyrics. Ice cream as when you were a child. Pixie dust covered ballerinas in a music box. A brown paper bag marked in permanence. This is the writing in all books. Her name, Princess Huesane. When we were a little one, falling asleep in the restaurant in our parents laps. As a couch becomes a throne, my heart becomes a truth, for what is reality but that of fairy tales, the greatness we know to be within ourselves, within everyone, peace. May your breath that sings of dreams carry vision in a breeze that holds the ocean of doors swaying in a hammock praying. May your dreams in the shape of sky guide the stars above the chose to stay like scattered pennies the lucky ones lost, then found in the eyes of a wisher, a will, a way. May your vision be to the stars and lashes like hope carry wishes in every sweep embracing love, a kiss to keep~