Midnight

There are more stars than I could ever put words to;
Lying flat on my back, enticing their lights to my outstretched fingers
So they fall to me on strings, like moths
Love drunk on the still air and the
Pink glow of the streetlights.

I have never seen the world from such great heights
And it takes on new clarity, too tangible and
Hopeless to let go of…
Just waiting to spin into
Gossamer; caressing my neck like the
Sticky fingertips of strangers that live in the silence.

Midnight is rare isolation, the refuge of a soul
As drunk as the moths on the moonlight.
I want to let go, be drawn from the wrists by my
Blind companions
Into that nothingness that
Spans everything.

And I realise, as I try and understand
Whether I’m looking up or falling down, that
There is nothing more perfect than life;
We’re living miracles within miracles.
We’re so near and yet so far,
There are so many things I just can’t put words to.
And darkness is only the absence of light.