Do not offer me the ocean

Do not offer me the ocean
When I am thirsty,
Like the sleeping flowers
In winter
I am nourished by longing,
By the glimpse of chasing lights
Across a pitch black sky.
Show me only a bird
When I want to fly,
And I will spend my life
Growing wings.

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The Dream of tomorrow

Of all the gifts of grace
Nothing is as precious as longing.
We see it in the meeting
of sky and hoarfrost:
A white-haired aerial world
Fighting the elaborate rules of time.
Or in the quiet of the night sea
Without a single light to reflect.
We see it in the singing hazels
Bleeding into sleeping clouds,
And in the waning sun’s burgundy
Burning the past in its hand.
But most of all we see it in people,
Walking side by side,
Young and growing, old and leaning,
Always haloed by the dream of tomorrow.