A View From The Backyard
So many stars overhead.
The cold evening air gives
a focussed clarity to each speck
of light and a little of the chill
from space seems
to trickle down to earth
and settle this night.
Thoughts reach up as if
to grasp some meaning encoded
there in the morse of light,
a message perhaps left by a hand
but there is only a silence
on which the cosmos writes
its usual chatter,
the tortured cries from dying stars,
groans from galaxies
being torn apart,
a catalog of death and doom
and there caught on a web strung
between two trees, the smothered
screams from a half eaten moon.
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