Day 4
Every Night
at the city's hushing hour--
wheels unturned, windows closed, open eyes--the glittering
of old light--the stars, so much colder than we will
ever know, hum down the folded day.
Weary of sameness and wary of change, a small boy chases
the invisible lines of his still new life to the sky's
ever shifting patchwork of memory. Like a clear
plastic vase complete with flower, he is at once
eternal and instantaneous--transparent.
One day when the stars have gone--this nighttime
melody will still exist. A single note, quivering,
hung suspended; singing itself out.
at the city's hushing hour--
wheels unturned, windows closed, open eyes--the glittering
of old light--the stars, so much colder than we will
ever know, hum down the folded day.
Weary of sameness and wary of change, a small boy chases
the invisible lines of his still new life to the sky's
ever shifting patchwork of memory. Like a clear
plastic vase complete with flower, he is at once
eternal and instantaneous--transparent.
One day when the stars have gone--this nighttime
melody will still exist. A single note, quivering,
hung suspended; singing itself out.