Somewhere Safe to Sea

I came out here to be alone,
to speak to the stars and trees,
to holler a thing or two at the moon,
to chat with the great outdoors.

Armed with a flashlight,
I trace the Big Dipper,
watch stars pour into the Milky Way,
and hear an owl ask “Who? Who?”--
a question always out of reach.

Overhead,
Orion shakes his sword at Sirius and Procyon.
Their barking disturbs Scorpio,
who sweeps its tail across the horizon.

The evergreens silhouetted around this ancient lake
stand up to protest Cancer,
to wave goodbye to the Daystar,
to supervise the ripples marching to the shore.

Armed with legs,
I peel a zillion minutes from an hour,
boil a month of Sundays from the week.
Underfoot, the moon-blanched leaves,
who fell from the family tree last week,
crackle and complain.

My flashlight catches a stream escaping the lake,
sneaking through the wild smell of flowers,
racing with the moon.

Here in the dark,
watching water slide over silver stones,
I know that everything,
sooner or later,
wanders slowly somewhere safe to sea...