When sitting on your own, in darkness, at night, being open to the things you do NOT see but only hear and imagine, you may as well imagine something better than future anticipated with fear…
As the stars sat down on a wooden bench
next to rustling corn,
a sqeaking sound
danced with the tired howling of the dogs,
a street where no car passes by for hours,
and leaves hanging deep,
close into silent yellow fields.
Flashes of a storm
in between dark distant wombs,
a friendly grumble,
as if over the border,
there is feast of fire reflected
through a giant hanging crystal,
turned by midsummer air,
for an unknown hungry god.
Lets forget to hope for a better past,
join the dogs
barking for a better morning.