When even dreams lose their
way in the dark departure of sleep;
when love is visible like air
by everything it does, yet keep
your course. There is no error
in the heart, as guide, as bearer
of the weight and way. Tools and
blessed fools are we, yet life and love
the rarer gifts than thinking
hand in glove
and we be drinking grand
death with every day:
let’s pay our breath to play
for simple joy
Am I a toy?