Night Vision

Strolling under arbor
And a blanket of chill
In the dark, where
All is still.

And alive,
The stars and the moon,
Out for what has come
To study the spaces.

Crowded 'round
For the narrator's keen
Story
Being told.

Impressionist musings
The artist imparts
Leading the moon
To illumine its expanse.

Rants and praise and silence
The stars enjoy
Emitting from the eyes
Of this boy.

Meadow green and darkened wood
Take shape and personality
And sway their blades and limbs
In satisfaction.

Afterward, tired, laying prostrate
Then turning 'round
He notices
Every sound.

And smell. And taste.
And feel. And blessed sights galore.
That come alive when the world around
Ignores.

A sacred space away
From the matrix
Where they seem to forget
Their own names, and the stories of the night.

Wishing he could take that moment
Into the day
But realizing
He cannot stay.