The Fourth

The Skies We Drive Away From

To the Skies We Drive Away From:

We may look back into the mirror and

(try to)

Make sense of it.

But we’d know that despite the unfamiliar clouds and the ever-changing stars, you’d

(perhaps)

Stay the same sky we pass under.

****

I’ve tried writing something. Somewhere, at the back of my head, was the words, but they refused to move or write themselves, and I’ve basically cajoled and begged and flailed my arms at them to no avail.

It’s pretty much hopeless now, but if it’s worth something, anything, I wanted to write a little something at least. To close the night, while I wait for a dream to come.

Some of the words took pity, I suppose, because they gave me this, which is much more than what a tired mind could wish for:

*****

One time tonight, and it had been a crazy day that led into a semi-crazy night, I was on the roof-balcony of the house and looking at the stars.

There were no clouds in the night sky, so where the streetlight’s lights couldn’t taint the infinite darkness above, you could see the stars.

You could’ve seen a lot of them. For a light-polluted suburban night sky, this amount of stars is a blessing.

And I stood and stared and fell into the sky, which was wondrously endless and dreamlike.

My mind now wouldn’t give let me describe it any better, but I wouldn’t have had a better way to describe it anyway.

I guess I’ll just call it beautiful.

*****

I’m falling in it, still. This infinite sky of stars, till I reach the moon. Or when she reaches me.