I woke to the smell of sage.
She was holding the air. She danced
above the flowers and defied gravity.
I grabbed one of Saturn’s rings,
In order to give her a gift worthy,
Of a soaring witch capturing the ozone.
She lifts trees out of the earth,
And plants them on the moon.
Astonishingly, she inspires foliage,
To flourish in the harsh vacuum of space.
If this is a dream don’t wake me.
I’d rather be a floating particle,
Swimming in the caverns of her breath,
Than a rotting corpse robbed of love.