Moonlight pools in the furrowed fields.
Each grain-topped stalk reaches up
To caress the dark sky’s face.
A hush has fallen over our common earth,
But the heavens are alive with song.
The stars pour forth melodies, harmonies,
Endless arias, spiraling refrains.
Their silver voices sing clear in the night.
Who but God has ears to listen?
Who but God and his legions of angels?
If we could hear but one chord of that song,
We would never again doubt the beauty of existence
Or the perfection of eternity to come,
Wrapped in the symphonies of heaven.
This morning, when I went to get in my car
in the empty parking spot next to it
lay an orange paper lantern
the kind you set fire inside
and the heat billows within the tissue paper
to make it rise, glowing and magical
into the empty night sky
In the light of day
it lay there crumpled on its side
the breeze gently moving it
so that it looked like it was breathing
panting softly on the ground
after its one glorious flight
The wick inside it had burned to ash
The paper sides of the lantern
were streaked black from the flames
Its orange flanks rose and fell
like a horse ridden too hard
until its wind is broken
I picked it up
and set it gently to rest
in the cool morning grass
It deserved no less
For how many can say
that the fire inside them
burned so fiercely
that it carried them to skim the stars?
Tonight the sky is velvet, crushed
Tonight jasmine hangs on the breeze
Tonight the crickets murmur, hushed
Tonight the moon slips through the trees
Tonight the stars gaze down like eyes
But I think what I need is a sunrise