mrs. darling keeps hers hidden
at the corners of her mouth
mr. darling calls it a kiss
but those are only thimbles
she dreamt it in a pirate’s cove,
on the midnight train to kal salei
through steppes and singing sands
beneath the island and the ocean
he thinks a kiss will make him happy
if he can steal one from her lips
but that one’s hers, and hers alone
and if he looks, he’ll find his own
he won’t catch it in a dusty ledger
nor in some stodgy bank clerk’s vault
his is somewhere up amongst the stars:
out west; a praerie faerie; an open road
no matter what wise men say
you cannot steal what’s free–
as anyone with children knows
true magic sleeps, but is never bound