Beneath The Nightly Firmament

By: Benjamin Barrett

Only the rocks by the shore could hear us that night.

When the air was as still as a grave

and no waves could silence

our thoughts, glowing brighter

than the moonlight

that was high above us.

I remember when we lit a little fire

from the driftwood we could find,

and laid a circle of shells

around the light

as if in some holy communion.

And only the sands

could heed our whispered prayers.

Sometimes, here and there,

a slight breeze would barge

right into our quiet charade.

Then the trees would dance with his song

instead of the rhythm we had been drumming

with the tender beating

of our hearts and tongues.

But we didn’t mind.

The liquor of nighttime’s rush

kept us well occupied.

And we drunkenly waltzed

about the empty shore

as if we were kings

of our own little world.

Even if our sandcastles were broken

by the thieving tide,

we danced upon the tomb it had made

with not a care in our minds.

Not even the stars could resist

watching our little getaway.

They had shone their light upon us:

spotlights on a stage

and many the nightly creatures

gave us a symphony of applause.

For only the rocks heard our laughter,

as we roamed that quiet shore.

Yet at times I wonder

could it ever have been more

than a simple retreat into the wilderness?

Perhaps one day those caves we saw along

the beach shall open up

and reveal to us the hidden world

we long ago missed.

And maybe then, more than rocks and sand

will heed our silent prayers.