I love the city.
Not because of the frantic rush
of pedestrians, each with a different
destination, each a unique story,
though this is true.
It is not for the steel giants
that stand like statues,
monuments of the ingenuity
of mankind, the race that walks by
and whose laughter and chatter
echo off the 23rd story.
No, tonight the love stems from
a starless night.
I see your eyebrow rise
in startled wonder, for who would
welcome the lack of natural beauty,
or think to praise an empty canvas
that is void of vibrancy.
It is for the same reason
that I smile at the rush of life,
the uncertain times, the fears
that try to blacken my canvas
and chase away the joy.
Long ago, on a lonely night –
a night that forecasted
worry with a chance of clouds –
the stars would not be hidden,
nor would the joy be left, abandoned.
The stars flew down around us,
beneath and beyond the reach of clouds.
If you squint, you can
make them out in the eyes
of the children playing tag,
in the fireflies and dancing embers
of the dying fire.
Stars are hiding in car lights
as they pass by on the night drive,
or in the rock that sits on the
ring finger of the girl on the porch,
who smiles and nods as you pass by.
A silky sliver of the moon even
slipped off the surface and
made itself manifest on my street,
settling on the corner lamppost,
welcoming a weary traveler home
One day the city may discover
a sabbath rest, and on that day
the lights will dim and the stars
may fly back up to the heavens,
but for now I will reach for what
is there, grab hold, swallow joy
and shine out brightly.