The Weaver of Dreams

I weave your dreams from autumn leaves

Turned brown and drifting downward

Toward the emptiness

Of summer skies

When the snow flurries

Upward toward the starlit heavens

And the moon looks down

Upon the restless hopes

Of careworn souls

Who daren’t

Believe

That anything

Could be so real

As the grind of wheat upon the wheels of time.

And the feet of those who’ve gone before

In the dusty tracks of them

Who couldn’t find

Their way.