What lies on ground at night to point the way to truth?
Or sits high in the throne-rooms that pierce the clouds
To be took by the wind and fly across senses like a ghost
Wandering eastward to hills across a sighing black sky…
So black eyes cannot discern beginning, end, or purpose
Only that it simply is and its cold touch draws sharp lines
Across our hearts and minds that desire only to be free
As the night overwhelms and beckons us into the dark
With slow, tremulous footsteps of discoverous trepidation
That lead…across harvested fields of fading summers gold
That whispers in the wind the start of autumn is once more