In the fields
of early May,
when the skies
have settled
in a deepening ocean
in summer dreams
and blue,
when the sun
is setting
fresh, warm
and still,
I see the waves
of wheatgrass,
and the tides
of forest light
upon the distant hill,
and here I tarry
upon the open road,
the road that is homeward,
before the invisible,
the guidance stars,
for above,
they whisper
of eternity,
and time,
time left until,
for now is
the only moment,
the birthing light
of hope,
their starlight like eyes
in the darkness,
as if alive
and dancing
dancing across the heavens
slipping in hours,
beyond
the watching moon.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
