Japanese Cielo Nocturno
The red orange sky kicked me in the face.
The daydreams stopped for the Day's dream,
What the Earth does when I’m not looking away.
To be here now. Too fast this Sunrise gone a pink so deep so dark so hot lava pink lemonade sky back to the blue hue.
If it were red every morning it’s like those old, that old saying about the stars, if the stars only came out once a year. How we’d all gather, stay up late, turn off Netflix and sleep in early.
How we’d all know how to be silent and watch a sky like a poet.
How we could call that should call that must call that night the poet's.
When the stars come out. On the night one night of the year the single night of the year when the stars come out and we are all silent all night.
We’re all struck all night, we're all humbled dizzy for a night that one night that one night the poet's night that one night that only night of the year the stars come out.
What's pink… all the lava pink lemonade lava on the tree line heads blue have to do with the single star night that once a year poet’s paradise night?
That night I don’t have to explain how I spend my days and why going out is a chore is walking to the Cross with my pen. With a new star sky the old star sky that make it new sky how am I to make it new when it makes me new?
How am I to keep from dreaming on a night of stars the only night of the year when they all show themselves? Dance for my attention come out and let me know them for the lack of them.
What am I to do with...how am I to sing this celestial solitary dance?
Is there no love note better than the stars in the sky?
What more can we need for proof but to look up?
When did wonder turn to numbers?
When did awe necessitate a ruler? A measurement other than Big B Beauty?
Cosmetics are created to honor to try and match what that night sky that cielo nocturno can do in any language.
The sky is the same color and the stars are as forgotten in Spanish, as they are in French, Arabic, Russian, Japanese, Chinese and English.
The stars are forever forgotten without me. Without The Poet.
Without these words to translate them as you will color your sky whatever words you choose whatever wish you make on a star they are there up there every night for the decency of you.
That dream of your heart has a landing strip has a tether that you can hitch that laptop and server to that star that you can pin those pixels on the night sky that you can come out of your dream into a new dream the same dream that you will know what the poet knows that when the stars come out that one night a year is every night for the poet.
When the dream of the starry night seems to end, the dream goes on and dreams the reminder that Heaven is here. Right there look look look the star that star in your pocket on your phone. On that screen there are stars where stars need to be. Wherever they might best get your attention.
What are the stars for if not to demand your attention? A reminder that without your recognition no celestial body would exist.
Least of all a country pink lemonade sky lava rolling a fir topped horizon above a townhouse at sunrise.
The man on the top floor through the bay window just under the horizon line running on his treadmill the way he does everyday at exactly 5am.
Today it’s ten of and there’s that pink orange sky that kicked me in the face.
-WYNN-