The Nothingness of Stars
Sun, 08 Mar 2015
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
between stars – stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
to scare myself with my own desert places.
Sleep evades me – one o’clock, or so...
beyond the window the water-logged blackness
of the fields – lit by a sometime-moon...
stretches out before me like bolts
The hoarse bark of a fox – the screech
of a barn-owl; they do not quake in the hot flicker
of a million stars, no more than they count
hours, days, months or years
nor do they see how life was interrupted here –
the undinted pillow, the unkept diary...the rocking chair,
mocks me with its stillness, the neglected greenhouse
with its rotting frame – once we made it a first in.
How I pick up my pen – strive to fill
the arid nothingness with my scribblings – begin
and begin again, in my quest for a less lonely loneliness.
My own wilderness fuelled by a single star – knows
nothing, and cares even less about things
such as these;
one evening we sat, we two,
where a blueberry sky came down to meet
a wafting shawl of pines, and watched a myriad of stars
all a-tumble, knowing when it’s time to be born,
to be high, to blaze, to mystify... to fade,