I remember the nights when
we would lay out in the back yard.
We would talk and name stars
after pets that had died long ago.
I also remember stealing looks at you
as you lay on your back watching the stars.
And the way the moonlight,
as soft as it was,
shined off your hair
making you look like an angel.
At those times I used to picture
you among the moon and stars,
another celestial being
floating around in a seemingly disorganized sky.
Of course, you’re not an angel,
not really, not to anyone else.
You were my angel,
always just out of my reach
and it was for that reason that you never knew,
I could never quite get close enough to you.
On those nights
all I ever wanted to do was
touch your hair in the slight possibility that
I too could become an angel
and fly with you
and mingle with the heavens.
...
