Moon at Half Past Noon

When your laughter spills into my breath’s low tide,
a thousand blossoms on the air confide.
From what far realm does this sweet grace descend,
to stir a million souls and make them mend?

A blush, a downcast glance you cannot hide,
brings my poor, aching heart a sweet expanse.
I hold no hope from gardens in the town—
your single laugh can make a new world dawn.

The gloom of sorrows fades, a phantom’s flight,
when you appear, a beam of purest light.
A single spark within the night’s despair
awakens in my soul a whispered prayer.

What power have the fates to bring me low?
Your promised hope in every breath does grow.
When the long night of tyranny grows deep,
each word you speak becomes a revolution’s leap.

So let the chorus be this truth confessed,
this quiet, breathing wonder in my chest:
Just your laugh…
only your laugh…
in every breath…
in every breath.