The Night Sky

Sometimes I need out

of my self too crowded,

crushing my mind;

a coconut bound to burst.

I break out

to a sea of open air

with express access to sky:

the bearer of the stars.

I’m safe on the grass

two sprints into Oakley field

my breathing slows;

the human returns.

My arms go up

reaching toward the beacons

searching for a ladder

that the ancestors missed

anything to take me away.

The world runs, I stay

an hour, maybe more.

the grass tickles my back;

I’m too distant to notice.

Something calls me home

I carefully listen

as my name surfs the petrichor breeze.

A hand pulls me back.

Back to the grass

Back to my body

It itches

A tingle I cannot scratch.

#2023