I knew it was a cliché but couldn’t help myself.
Driving home from a countryside gig
I succumbed to the song of the stars
clear-voiced without the white noise of polluting light.
I like to think the car pulled itself over,
nestled gently again the verge
like a dog nuzzling its owner
desperate for the contact that says “Welcome home”.
In the stretched silence, this vaulted canopy
satin-stitched with pulses of light
puts on a show, photons finishing their
until now, uninterrupted journey.
As pupils dilate, the shyer stars
show their face, refracted flecks of energy,
populating the sky with distant candles;
a cloak of wonder, secrets and security.