A poem of the night...

I lift my face to the night air
The wind glides over my chin and cheeks
Then slides off my forehead.
I close my eyes as a salute to her power.
The trees dance and wiggle their fingers,
Swaying to a rhythm we can't hear.
The planes pass by on her wings,
Their lights blinking in the distance
Till they become as tiny as the stars;
Holes punched in the ceiling of the sky.


I love making up poems that don't rhyme: let the words say it all...