Four After Midnight

It was a pattern Every night in the fallI was in bed by ten thinking over thinkingmy pains and healing journeyswrite a book my dream saidinsomnia kept me up almost all nightuntil Four After Midnightwhen it let go~Dreaming of a bookwith an old candle and crescent moona dream handed me a dreammy heart gave me art and there you are holding a dream of a small town boy~Reality Sinking Into The Palms Of These Hands~