You loved to stand looking with awe and wonder
like a giggling girl to see the artwork and to trace the pinpoints
For more than 65 years you said you’ve never seen one shooting
across the heavens tracing with God’s finger, until last year
In the mornings you loved to see the brightest one
paint the horizon with the myriad in its palette
as the world in its slumber awakened and roared to life
During the day you would sit resting by the canal tree
not 20 paces from the all too often covered glass door
and you would let your feet dangle over the canal running below
You absorbed the puffy cloud sculptures as they traipsed past
pulled by strings of wind roped across the ever-changing sky
But it was always the night where you would gaze longingly
hoping to see that which the Greeks and Romans made vernacular
straining so hard past your aging eyes’ deficiencies hoping,
praying to see that which inspired poetry and legends and myths anew
Yet, they were drowned out by the intrusive streetlamps their
brightness against a blinding canvas saturated with too much brightness
It frustrated you, being so far away from the home you knew
where you could see wondrous creations my eyes never have held
Tonight, you rest amoung them, and I keep seeing them shoot and trace
I know in my heart that you’re asking God to do it again, and again
and He does, knowing that it brings you joy, and gives me peace
because I can see everything so bright in the stillness tonight
3:41 am
10 December 2010
