Your X is on a spot where triumph is buried,
But gone forever is that place
Only to be left forever in our dreams.
'Twas that night, a multitude of ago ago, so it seems,
That our dreams were manifested
To touch and never brush away.
Would it had been more apt had you ululated nothing?
An almost vacuous yawn sutured in time,
Your silent expression navigating longer than forever.
Lo, you shouted skyward,
Along with the hordes of dreamers,
Even if dreams are silent functions of the mind.
And so what is left is this: A quiet exultant pause in space,
And this is enough
To remind us of what can be when dreams happen.
