It's poetry week at Idyllwild Arts, and last night was the second evening poetry reading. It was held at one of my favorite venues, the Holmes Amphitheater; one of the many places where I used to dance barefoot through the clover laden grass, wearing only a bathing suit and my dad's cowboy hat. I was obviously quite young then, and often fresh from the pool when we went to see plays and concerts at the amphitheater. The mood last night did not support dancing through the clover, though I did kick off my shoes to feel the grass between my toes. The hills were peppered with individuals, eyes closed, listening intently.
Flying at Night by Ted Kooser
Published in "Flying at Night"
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
