By the Windowsill

Sometimes I
lie awake at night
with the world in my head
yet nothing to write.

I watch the stars
from the windowsill
and think and wonder
and wait until

I have lines
and a pretty rhyme
and nothing to waste
but silent time

as all the words
slip from my soul
and into the sky
because I can't control

my own hands.
My own mind.
I've the sweetest thoughts
but I cannot find

the language to share
all the things I see
in plain places and people
and memory.

Oh, it keeps me up
as I search and seek
for a way to give
the world a peek

into golden skies
and a wonderland
with nothing more
than the pen in my hand.

I write it out,
again, again,
but the message that
I try to send

falls shorter
than it sometimes seems,
like all my quickly-fading
dreams.