Look stranger

 

Look, stranger

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