Watched by stars we lay reposed, settled on the sod.
The breeze leans—cinder clouds respond as to a prod.
You ask aloud, is smallness good, I give a little nod
and look up from our cul-de-sac into the face of God.
A thread of light, bluish white, silently is flown—a stitch
to gather tats and rags, to hem our flesh and bones.
Grains of sand ride the sky, a moment they are shown.
We lay reposed and wonder at our longing to be sewn.
Starry Night Over The Rhone
Beautiful girl, it’s to your sky
I draw my gaze. Your starry night
has ways to catch and hold my eye.
Though I am often caught in town,
you still appear. You captivate,
though city light would keep me down.
You beckon to that country place
and, there, decry the well lit streets
and parking lots as lesser grace.
Your sky reveals an ageless cheer:
though stars unveiled by darkest night
are far, they beg us to draw near.
Beautiful girl, you draw me.
I anticipate. My eyes gaze,
like on a starlit night—they rise
to your skies and remain.
Though I am sometimes stuck
in the city you still appear, still
come through. I look for you.
You are more than mere light.
So take me tonight, take me
to that country place.
Go with me to that dark freedom
and give me your full glory.
Let us lie close. Bring a kiss.
Capture me with your bright face.
The stars are at the window;
They are drawn by our embrace.
You (And I) Said...