Night arches her back, stretching, hovering before a blanket of stars, her shaded cup upturned and covetous, holding us beneath, deeply pressed within her breast, nourished in tender dreams soon unfolded within us. How gentle is the hand which creates and adorns the night sky with new worlds, spattered in light, how kind is the whisper which conjured our name? Nestled within caring’s breast, we are her thought before time, sleeping and then restless, as a prayer searches to find wings unfolded, a whisper awakens in her heart and is answered, to have spoken our name. So thick with happiness is she to have dreamt you. The time of returning is ripe.