Sage

The sage brush drifts in through the window
We are singing poems
Gently
Under our breath
Everything feels dizzy and light
We want to run but the rocks in our shoes halt us
We are quite happy
Lying in the sun
Counting leaves
Everything a blur
A magical dream
It is the simple things which keep us busy
Everything is fine when we think of them
It's so easy to tumble down
But we grip the edge with all our might
As night falls the smoke subsides
Heavy clouds signal a charm
How many wishes will we wait for
We wash the sage from our fingers and lie softly together.