counting stars

there is a place

that I cross

when I feel lonely.

where moon greets midnight

and curls of delicate green

glow silver,

where trailing jasmine tendrils,

reserve their fragrance,

to bloom for the night.

here lives the magic

a child might feel

here, lays my affair

with time and seclusion

here leaps dancing visions,

brief flirtations...

a pact

sworn to secrecy

into the late of night

in repose, I spy

fireflies, flitting by

and with each visit

I catch the stars

twinkling...

a knowing look in their eyes.

-lyra okita