poem #82: stars in prineville
night falls,
the moon casting a ghostly shadow
through the sharp-twigged juniper trees
yet is comforting
fire sparks go up
reaching for the stars
which have just come out
so bright and strong
that when you look at them directly
an orchestra plays
along to the tune
of the soft hoots
of the owl sitting atop the tree.
they stick together
like all of us
bound by invisible, happy
death delivering if you break
ropes that you can hear creak
if you journey too far beyond
where you truly belong
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