Archives for posts with tag: stars

Sometimes, at night,

when the wind finds time to rest

and the warm air of a spring day forgets to leave,

I walk outside

and down to the beach

and sit

and listen to the music that wafts

over everything beneath the candle-lit sky.

 

Waves lapping softly at the shore,

rushing and receding, rhythmic, hypnotic,

tidal melody lulling me

into a state of pacified rapture.

 

The moon sings to me, pouring honeyed ballads

into my ragged ears, the dark water

that stretches out before me,

vast and unyielding, is her violin. I feel the notes

floating, graceful and knowing, into the parts of me

that need it most.

 

Rising and falling, I let go and give in

to the lunaescence of the night,

let it blanket me in celestial beauty

until the time comes

to walk back home

and write a poem about it,

                                about you

                                         and your

                                                   song

 

I wanted to see the stars

in Albury,

a town farther than I’ve been, six minutes

as the train flies, where

the land turns greener,

people become sparser,

the towns I pass grow

smaller, humbler, with every

mile the train

devours;

a sunset of forgotten hues precedes

the inky, candle-covered blanket

of night

but the mists descend, the

rains come, the stars

are lost to me.

 

I drink and eat and speak of

things I’ve never known,

never could know,

but their wisdom isn’t

lost—a magic surrounds me

that I can’t

explain.

 

Now, dawn has finally

broken

and that daunting feeling,

the one that comes

when you stare

at the starry ceiling of a night,

it eludes me

because

I never saw the stars

in Albury.

 

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