Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Monday, February 16, 2004

Watcher Of The Skies

In summer, twilight,
jeans on the beach,
feet burned and branded
now in criss-cross patterns
by leather sandals and the sun
earlier in the day.
Then as darkness begins
its seance, calling spirits
that appear upwards in distance
beyond miles...
The whisper of his touch
brings a comfort,
his hand having found mine
to lead me to that favored
spot suitable for viewing
with the naked eye.
This is the place,
and so we sit, waiting,
watching for them, one
by one. And the whisper
again, this time his voice
in my ear, conveying the legends,
histories, the science and magic
of the skies at night.

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