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