The parachutes are waiting patiently outside my attic window,

Waiting for me to hop into them when I come down from the roof;

I'll be taking a while because I have a few things left to discover up there

While painting meteoroids and sending letters to an anonymous moon.

If I ever forget the stars, my ceiling will reflect them,

And I'll know that they are still out there somewhere;

If morning breaks and they are still twinkling in the blue

I'll soar up and sing them to sleep in the air.

Is it alright if I paste the autumn leaves to the sky tonight?

My meteors will safely land on them instead of crashing into me while I'm asleep;

I've secured the parachutes around and beneath the tiles incase I roll off the roof,

Then they'll know where to take me; somewhere where the tide breaks in.