Drifting somewhere between sleep and awake,
I found myself under stars so bright,
looking up and watching the New Mexico sky from my brother’s porch,
some thirty years ago.
It was a percale sheet of indigo blue,
only dotted here and there with many stars so bright,
I thought I might reach out and touch them
with the tip of my finger.
Sleep took me deeper to the night sky of Wisconsin,
where the trees lined the frame of deepest black,
and loons serenaded the stars in their mournful cry.
Floating along, I found myself back home
under the Indiana night sky,
where the man in the moon played hide-and-seek behind wisps of clouds,
and male cicadas deafen in their mating call.
Traveling the night sky,
the same yet ever changing,
diverse in its glory,
affected by its surroundings,
but never letting go of its beauty.