Citified,
late night silhouette
surrounds me
with tall tree tops
hip and gable roofs.
No gazing
to horizon line,
or far distant plains
of countryside
in my neighborhood.
With pad and pen
and eye level line,
heights and depths
of illusion and perception
transfer from mind to paper.
But still, far overhead,
my backyard stars
float high above
elusive, distant
from imagined horizon.
Merged deep within
the heart of memory
a summer night
a drive in the country,
"Stop! Stop the car! Look!"
Departing from High Cliff,
an aptly named State Park,
a cause to throw a blanket
on roadside field, lie on one's back
and see the stars fill the sky.
Breathless,
"Just look at that,"
a night so clear
each star reached out
in vibrant white.
I see it still,
the stars stretched
across the background sky,
crowding, till reaching down
to caress and kiss the horizon line.
Bronze trophy winner
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