The Lawn
The stars hang over
The ocean like strung lights
From a sycamore tree above
A pale yellow house.
They are marks, they are posts,
They are illuminators
And watchers.
The stars hang over
My eyes as I lay,
My back crunching the grass.
Beneath my head, leaves, pillow.
They conspire, they do,
To kill me off with loneliness,
To make me curl onto the green.
The green where once the stars
Were friendly players in my dreams,
Bringing purple ponies and
Fuchsia friends to my lawn.
Making me sing songs to their beauty
And dance to their joy
While joining in my smile.
The green where now the stars
Cause my eyes to blink and water,
Where my pain is magnified times two,
So that they become voyeurs.
Seers of my loneliness,
Knowers of my heartache, and
Unfeeling receptacles for my tears
Shed upwards so they roll down.
