Broken pipe

I can be the moon that takes care of your sleeping hours:
home alone above the darkly traveler shining clouds
which seam a hope long pipe between the mind we share.
Don’t give it up until my cotton pillows gets into ice.

You insist on keeping me beneath the ground you step on.
Don’t let me out of the dark sky we drew to fly
through the roads and the darkest green treehood.