[This poem owes it's main idea to a Wendell Berry poem. Also, this and the previous 6 poems posted were all written in one hour at a coffee shop today. Most productive hour of writing in my life.]
littered with stars
ought to be celebrated
because it is not
ordinary.
At midday
even clear skies
give no reason to hope
for such a spectacle.
No faint glimmer,
no single clue
left to betray
the billions of suns
burning light-years
from the top
of blue skies.
When night comes
the thinnest layer of cloud
can hide all lights
but the moon.
City lights
obscure the view
on clear nights.
Living in a big city
on a cloudy coast,
it’s easy to forget stars—
out-of-sight
out-of-mind.
Clear nights
far from the city
are treasures;
reasons to search-out
an empty field and lay down,
head on bunched-up sweatshirt,
stare
wide-eyed
at what was always there
invisible and now
revealed.
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