Midnight On the Island

To wonder at the wondrous veil

of celestial arrangements
making their silence wash

into night wells of sea-lap

and wild cicada songs,

I stand still.

Stilled as though motion
has taken leave

of my weary legs,

shifting into placidity.

* * *

My mother’s nearby body, once
the house of my incipient soul,

is silent, reposed, to be reminded
with tomorrow’s sun my mystery

contains a man and boy,
intertwined for their ascent.

Worry of love
and slump of labor have ceased,

slipped to the sand and moonlight
on a limb of beach.

The moon is sleekly regal
in her wisp of clouds attending.

Night is enormous, ripe
for jeweled questions to rise

again, the whispers of eons to start
again in my blood


* * *

Doze nation and mother and toil.

I will stay a minute before the stars

to wear their small eternal light,

my bare feet pressing a pose
into the dampness,

cool in cedar shadows.

The raucous symphony of cicadas
is flaring and singing the ocean secrets!

I am lit with intent,

listening

to the falling of starlight
into the sea

like a crashing island opus.