Empty Field

The darkness opens its palms,
And you pass over the fence leaving no footprints,
Except the patches of flat grass where you danced.
And, except for the picnic blankets where our hearts and virtues now lie,
The stars look down upon an untouched field.
The night awakens; stretches its arms
Encompassing all.
And you are suddenly nothing but a freckle on the endless skin of the night.