Midnight Actor
Often at midnight I’ll go out to see
an abundantly clear sky
and its cast of starry characters,
playing lead roles
in their own dimensions.
I stare upward on a bed of grass
as the lingering heat of the day
penetrates cotton fabric
which covers my back.
The night quiet soothes me
take my place in the universal drama,
a fragment of infinity,
belonging to an existence
greater than the value of man.
But the part overwhelms me,
the boundless stage is frightful,
space and time alter my perception
and as small a role as I play in the production,
I no longer feel comfortable with the script.
Abruptly, I rise
to return to the friendly lights
and secure surroundings of home,
happy to be a leading character
in a lesser presentation,
a star with gravitational force
in a personal galaxy,
aware that upon another midnight,
I’ll attempt to compromise my casting
in the grander scheme.
To A Crow
Your perch upon
the high white pines
dizzies rooftops
which stare at your nest,
nestled on a branch,
camouflaged by fir,
green curtains closed about you
and blue sky behind
completes your décor.
The sun illuminates your airy boudoir,
the gusty wind delights lofty humidity,
as you sit alone in luxury
and the rare lightness
of a fluttering disposition.
Prince of altitude,
heaven and whispering clouds
become your attire,
and when you visit,
red roses, white birch,
and colorful phlox
bloom in your park.
You are night, passing through day,
we whisper in response
to your flagrant call.
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