Night

I look up,

through my ceiling

to the sky,

blackened in age-

awaiting rebirth. At

stars and stripes,

caused by rain,

forming nowhere,

falling down to open eyes,

tapping lightly,

eager not to harm but to

soothe and to caress. Hidden in

orange, formed from below,

where the lights need never go out,

and the whispers of the deceased fizz and fill

the heads of those who sleep, or don’t sleep

but dream,

dreams that touch and kiss and hold

and suffocate,

reaching down to pupils gazing upward,

staring through a ceiling

to the sky. Brighter now, from the other sides-

stars fading but

light encompassing.