Night prayer

I'm absorbed in the silvery-black night, silent and hollow I lay like a paper cut-out. My head sinking into the dewy grass, I run my fingers along it then down my legs unpicking the ladders in my tights until a mess of cotton unravels onto the grass, like a hairball from a gluttonous cat. The night's sky lies outstretched sparkling with drizzle and the bitter after-taste of rain. My silhouette shines in comparison to the jet-black horizon, almost glowing like a pearl. (But no where near a natural beauty. )

My complexion is almost faultless out here, my imperfections melt away with the navy-purple sunset. All I can hear is the lake lapping, desperate to reach the stars and when I raise my fingers in the air, I trace the outlines of the stars like Chinese lanterns, or millions of tiny kites with glowing incandescent tails promoting hope. Like I'm a tiny Goddess interwoven with the stars.

I try to flex my body into the one and only yogi position I know, the praying mantis but I collapse into myself. Folded up and put away for the night. My head spins into a pile of deflated belief that any of this is real. Knowing the moment is only perfect for as long as it exists, the stars blink and fade out. I feel more awkward and unattractive in the harsh glow of the moon, like a polarised camera snatching away my peace.