The Starry Sky
and no-man
rest beneath an awning sign.
The Milky Way
high above and
waiting for the tide.

Uncover if you will
all the structures
staired and risen.
Leave the air
a gaseous object
ablaze for those
who listen.

Crickets stir and
play me off
toward the turn-down twilight.
It’s what I know of Lydia
and the archer’s
death delight.

Eyes to the
cushion clover of
gods and explanations
inexplicable.
Soft-eyed souls
rehabilitate
children, helping them escape.