• Of houses on a cliffside,
    where the ocean screams and reaches,
    and you feel powerful because you know
    what it's like to crash and disappear.

    Of a 900-pund ant with glass eyes,
    soft and perpetual and sweet like
    honey-colored hair and,
    ancestral smile.

    Of gardens made of
    bleeding hearts and roses,
    that my father never could grow.
    and Dark Violets for Grandfather
    and a swing that's hung by chains
    and poetry.

    Of treasure maps and wanderlust
    and chance meetings and
    sailing, ever sailing, towards nowhere,
    but the sunrise we will never reach.

    And I am made of dreams,
    And like all dreams,
    They're made of you.