My child sleeps under the stars With a stream of stars always revealing as earth goes round and round Sleeping under the stars a summer dreamy once all was forever in a day No chains were invented to weigh a soul down Just the turning of night into day become a dreamy blanket under the stars like the canopy of sky is our tree.
I love the damaged ones For when their feathers are preened, smoothed with heart Breathed ever so gently thoughts A song begins to be remembered, a colour blends a part of a rainbow quivers within an eye oh so sapphire awakens. Then a ruffle of feathers alight a lullaby where we came from takes flight for we all breathe under the stars and surf this turning earth, and exhale to the milky way the way we came to earth.
Only period of a day on earth which frees a soul, stimulated under a moonless purple sky. From all corners of being or should I say the curves of a face, the vesper of a cooler breeze letting you know you’re inhabiting a body. Although always the eyes, a crease furrows down the face keeping a pulse. It is so quiet, a nonhuman stillness, one that unlocks the prison of a scorching day. Even is even as day flatlines to an evening which frees a soul. It is upon your eyes, within this sepal opening voiceless, here tiny motes of light dance. Always the eyes, always the earth, always are we caught in these cycles, beholding the sky of stars under a moonless evening. Wish making in the falling stars in your eyes.
Are you watching the stars.
Are you under the covers warm with the light that bends around this earth.
Which touches the disk in the sky, called by many names through the earliest of eyes, which gazed then bathed their cool body under a river of a silver sliver of opalescent moon.
Taken; you lay, held wordless as this crescent grew to a fullness, then hungrily waning away, a thirst to follow a rhythm of changes.
Are you watching the stars. Forever never changes, an orb that becomes change. Consistent desired primal and true. Carnal peace a stone that fits upon the body flows .
Phosphor light filling a rhythm.
Were not for the winged iridescent curious creatures born absorbed with the celestial colour. Were this not my body that painted from a moons glow, were this not a memory, where from a wind carried thought through an evenings vesper.
Would not my piece of being fit so well into your wish so perfectly. That we would be as once, no one living today uncommonly remembers .
Withdrawn nested twilight evening. Moon leads her path away, leaving this night inking evening pure. Obsidian nights as a flower unfolds, a hand touches someone starring through. Petals so opaque caressing this complaint, darkened hum chorused. Is this strum strum of a melodious hum of ancient songs learned from these stars. All in my head this night shrouds a purity of vastness. This sentient diagram, geometry of symbols distilled. For it is a capsule, a medicine taken. For these stars, drawn within this nest from a moonless night. My heart shines like an obsidian shard. This flower tills a gaze with distant suns. A finger untwines, expires becoming timeless. For not these nights moonless, for not an echo passed into the drone so dark in a night like a heart beat of another ancient song. For not this night’s delirious intoxication, would I not be wild .
Light is like shadow
Night is like day
Moon glows on a dark star sky
Where the sun cast a shadow
Defining the curve of her body
Moon bathes light into this night
Light is like day , as night is the crescent moon filling
~ Light is wordless ~
Light has a stillness, a quiet never listened to. Even behind its touch upon the trees quietly, concentric ripples of rings unseen, if only someone could read these pattern of shadows. Even then the quiet goes undisturbed. May be this stillness captures the ebb, a faraway memory of a season past fresh, a different hill top, a memory similar when light spoke with a golden glint. Upon finding under a majestic piñon droplets of fragrant amber sticky with a curious bug incased.
Light is this kind stillness, warm between when touched, wordless light rides layers carried on a breeze from a far away ocean salty, meeting with a warmer breeze may be from a canyon filled with date palms, blending a cool and warm taste across your cheek.
Light touches everything, wordless because light has always been here. Shadow likes light. Night can be light when moon glows under a darker starry sky. Wordless, no time but the playfulness of light and shadow has a stillness seldom listened to.