The Voices in the Night

Chihuly's Garden and Glass in Seattle 2014

 I stepped out into the deck

                                 at night

                            the stars were sprinkled

across that black sheet
        above my head                                            

      in familiar patterns,

                                  small lights bright,

       friendly faces beaming down. . .

so close                                                  

                                 I felt I could rearrange them

with a flick of my fingers . . . 

 The crickets were singing                            

      each voice a member of the choir

                      one in particular, an alto,

crying out over and over. . . . "poor Pete,
poor Pete. . . "

          their cheeky voices

                           thick with hope

some little ones          

                    pausing for the cause

like bits of percussion weaving in and out

                                                              with an occasional fanfare. . . 

A breeze raked her cool fingers

                         through the branches of the

trees -                  
                         bright at their tips

                     where they caught the rays

of the moon - 
                                                                   or the streetlamps . . .

       In the distances all around

                                                          were multitudes of voices,

               people laughing,

talking,

              music playing on some

                                                       odd radios,

like memories . . .

                                                              my yard echoes

                        the night

with the sounds of the city                        

          like a basin

catching raindrops

                        . . . . . . . or tears

and reminding me

                                                         with a whisper

that I am not

                                         alone. . .

                                                    . . . . no

                       . . . not ever!             

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(Written last night)

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(I found this little poem tucked away . . . without knowing its history

. . . I can only vaguely remember the feeling . . . the stars have always

amazed me . .. they give me wings, strength and a strange sense of being

one of them . .  immense . .  yet small - )

 

I gazed with open mouth
at the night sky
the stars are thick and bright . .
there is an endlessness
an eternal peace
in looking though time
trying to find the middle . ..

they told me that being alone in the night
not sleeping
not flying into the dreams of the restful places

will make me tired in the day
and I will fall
down the mountain . ..

but instead I floated away . .  

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