a chorus of crickets
plays
beneath my feet
the end of summer air
surrounds
like a never ending
warm embrace
slow steps
unknowingly guide
toward one illuminated spot
there,
silver and winding
an unnamed work of art
until I give it a name:
Monsieur swan
I stand in her presence
dazed,
open,
defenses relaxed
Am I alone?
I ask
no response
I don’t know that you’re real
you don’t know
that I am
only I know
that i’m real
I only know
that i’m real
if only I am real only then
I am alone…
mesmerized by silence
as the galaxies response
my gaze wanders
to the dark
three deer freeze in their tracks, we
make eye contact
in their gleaming stare
I search again
for an answer
there is none
my hands begin to shake,
my thoughts still spiraling away…
before my vision blurs I stop
my train of thought
I am alo… NO!
Also published on the Scribe website: https://eportfolios.macaulay.cuny.edu/the67thstreetscribe/2021/02/24/stars-twinkle-overhead/
