A dream forms in a sycamore tree
A billion stars are winking at me
The wind doesn't really care
Whether or not I'm sitting there
It goes around
And carries the sound
Of a whispered apology
That bounces off my knee
And falls to the grass
Right beside my
foot.
The whispered apology was uttered by me, and went unheard. I wrote this wistful, melancholy piece while sitting on my front lawn, gazing out at the desert, after breaking up with someone rather thoughtlessly.