First Light In the Star Fields
A stone in the backyard,
roughly cratered like the moon,
a black stone
heavy with ancient cinders –
fire chipped.
Could it be a meteorite
or maybe a bit of cold star-fire?
It’s so very old,
utterly lost
even though
it is now placed here in my hand -
placed for an iota of time.
Lots of rocks in the black
pock-marked yonder-
in the star quarry,
Then there is this blind pebble
between my fingers.
The stars are mad.
They glare down upon me
as night lets go of Ohio.
Perhaps the stars miss
this piece of endless night
in my hand?
Dawn is racing
over hedgerows.
A lingering starlight
glints on the hard ground,
the blanching gleams
seem angry,
even psychotic.
A boy on a pedal bike
throws a morning newspaper.
The daylight rattles
as if shaking off a dream.
Sol rolls the earth over
its violent core, rekindles
our eyes.
I take the stone back indoors.
I’m not sure why,
maybe I’ll write a poem about it.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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