(Edited Poem from BHB collection)
I lie in[1]
summer grass,
watch
night’s darkening [2] and
the shooting stars:
comforted, yet uneasy in this ancient mystery.
Think thoughts of women approaching
Michelangelo, kicking his statue
in the knee, to make him move.
Thoughts hard to reconcile…
who was it wrote three books[3]
highlighting morality’s virtues?
It never caught on.
Drifting in the nightfall[4]
sky I expose myself
to time inevitable,
lingering in[5]
the idea of being indefinite.
I marvel at this urge
to extend the self through endless blue, to seek
invisibility in passionate embrace,
the luxury of that ancient mystery.