Look, stranger
See the brown field grow wings
With the setting of the flaming sun
Stand under the rising of the
Patient, florescent moon
Breathe the sweet smell of hay bales
The crisp dying leaves
Feel the air cooling above the radiating asphalt
Where your feet have hardened
Listen to the aliveness of it all
None of them have anywhere better to be
A doe moves from behind the darkening tree line
And stills as the bats flap with fervor
The cicadas are speaking in tongues
And the crickets are praying with their bodies
And the wind is whispering wonder between the trees
And where are you going and
Why aren't you waiting
Who gets to hold a night like this
In the palm of their sweaty, lonely hand
To hold it like a secret forever
– olivia gwyn
