Perseids Night

A poem born from lying on stone under the August sky, watching the Perseids paint light across the darkness.

The moon like lard,
yellow and waxing on a summer night.

Sorrow builds,
moths die on the car tonight.

Darkness enveloping,
moonlight encroaching,
time is passing.

Stone hard and brittle,
I lay gazing,
satellites grazing.

Rustling—
is it grass
or is it a mouse?
The wind is warm.

Water splashes against the rocks,
mirroring the world above.

Gasping, unzipping,
realms unfolding.

Stars are falling.

I lay on the stone,
embraced by thy sight,
on this Perseids night.