Alone

Twenty-five degrees at midnight;

Brilliant arctic air April night;

deeply dimensional sky; 

stars, some seem reachable, some unimaginably far, in omni-faceted colors.

He, in only a nightshirt, lying back, uncold,

listening… 

to…

Wagnerian pipe organs of silence.

Ornately theatrical curtains, 

ascending

descending

opening

closing

hot magenta 

to

cold silver olive

sheers,

over two-thirds of

the universe.

Wishing.

Longing.

Belonging.

Alone.

Lying.

Listening.

Watching.

Then floating 

just above the 

body in the cold grass.

Ascending

-watching the ascension -

soaring

spiraling

streaking 

up through the energy filled void.

Into the curtain realm

through the color shifting opulence; beyond, 

into 

bleak black 

blinding brilliance 

overwhelming quantum energies abound.

Alone.

THOUGHTS

NEXT

LAST