Someone has swallowed the stars.
I'm looking at you,
fat, bulbous moon
trying guiltily to hide
behind cotton wool clouds
betrayed by illuminating
bright burning light.
There's a puddle of water
in the street
right at my feet
that holds your reflection captive
where I can poke and prod
trying illicit confession
but the ripples
won't talk
silent
murky
his cellmates, fallen leaves
discarded coffee cups
someone really should clean the drains.
He mocks me from on high
shining in through the curtains
I sewed myself
rose coloured
like the hills hoist
the brick work
and whatever else lurks
beyond the french doors.
Soft velvet sky
sequined too sparsely
why do you refuse to shine?
Ah. All in good time.
The seasons,
seemingly with out reason
turn
everything fades, lies,
guiltily hides
and spits whatever sparkle they have swallowed
back out into the sky
and if you take the time
to look up ,
shimmering stars will collect
reflect
twinkeling
in your eyes.
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