A gray cloud of hope escapes my mouth
It swirls around my head and seeps into my curls
“I want to keep it.” I told my husband.
But he didn’t hear me.
The moon shines down and trees pass us by
“I saw two shooting stars.” He states.
But I’m busy trying to smell the hope in my curls
To see the moon
And to admire the trees
Silence becomes us
But our minds, they’re lit up like Christmas trees