LUNACY

Lunacy gallops into my dreams
in striped pajamas
"What's that?" she cries
"It's the moon," I say.
"The moon."

We race on snow
frozen solid like concrete
barefoot in our pajamas
drawn by shadows
bluer than ice
and trees dancing
across a canvas of darkness
whispering prayers of madness
we are alive!

We are alive!
We are alive
in the winter sky
moonstruck
with werewolves
and owls
and fishers
coyotes and bats
diamonds on ice
melting into deep pools
of promise.

There is no dance
like tripping with crystals
in the shadows of night
stepping to the beats
of our minds
singing the laughter
of wonder
as the snow weds the light.

We are alive
sliding barefoot
in striped pajamas.