Thursday, October 17, 2024

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