I thought I was through
With naiveté.
The first storm of summer
Thundered upon me
Showering my tropical desert
With fairyland humility.
I am among the believers, yet
I lie not in beds of the believed.
My imagination wills itself happily
Into the realm of reality.
I am not lost
But a man might search lifetimes
If ever he found me.
Eyes closed to the rising sun
Look westward, full of moon.
I am the one
Who can heal your wounds
If you let me.