Night Owls

The stars are like seeds on fire,
The milky way is thinned out
In moonless, street lit sky.
Big Dipper skirts the margin of the sky’s bowl.
Vega’s at its apex, a blue Buddha,
Still, content to be blue;
I crane my neck to look at it, so full of intention –
My eye’s perception’s not the thing itself.

They come out talking invisible summer energy.
Two similarities acting out contradictions.
They are an inseparable corollary
Of wills, comments and mirror images.
Their chatter cuts laterally across the plane of the yard:
One talks cloud castles, the other passing time,
Yet they talk the same predicated plan.
I hear their subtle corrosive sameness.

Night wind blows maple seed pods all over the lawn.
Birds of unknown species cackle complaints.
Electric bulbs dim into small gray waves.
Mirages carve the sky with entities of expansive
Half perceived distractions cut through
The hard edged angular suburban horizon.
Aquarius swells into a cataract drumming
Through a spectrum of concrete heat and light.

She is there, but rarely travels with me.
We seize moments as they come along
Curtly and certainly in her world.
To her I am alone in the skittish dark,
Away from homey considerations
Of anxious waterfall tears, stubborn
Aloofness, the shuffle of papers that
Define the world,
And the closure of a warm bed.

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