I can capture
a bird’s flight,
a mountain’s splendor,
a tiger’s roar.
My pen
marks the crisp
white paper
like footprints
on a snowy trail.
My dreams
are alive,
and leaping
like sparks
in my hands.
To dream is to speak
a thousand words
and never speak at all.
In my dreams,
I fly
like a
new bird,
like the quiet
of the storm.
The music
that flows
from my eyes
is like currents
of electricity,
and it powers me,
the dreamer of dreams
to live.
Winnipeg, Manitoba,
Canada
