I waited by the open gate
through morning mist and evening's weight,
a lantern trembling in my hand,
a map of stars,a whispered plan.

The night sang songs of distant skies,
and hope lit fires behind my eyes,
each footstep poised to greet the sound--
but silence was the only crown.

Seasons turned their silver key,
locking doors inside of me.
Petals fell,and rivers dried,
still no dream came,though I tried.

Perhaps it sailed a different stream,
or got lost in a larger dream,
or maybe it was never meant--
just a ghost of longing sent.

Yet here I stand,by gate and sea,
still holding space where it should be.
A hollow place,a sacred ground,
for dreams that never touch the ground.