imperfect prose on thursdays: life is eternal

i step into boots and then, the night, and it is a full-moon tonight, grandma said and i look for it but the man in the moon must have had his curtains drawn, in a sky that seems God’s face for all of its vastness

i stand still while children everywhere sleep, i stand in a night thick with frog songs and whipper-will, the lowing of cows and sometimes, the world is so quiet it gives ears to the sounds of the holy

the trees seem as if holding their breath, for we are all witness to the moment the moon makes its presence known like a woman in a white gown

and these are the moments that tell me, the universe is the pulsing heart of a maker, and life is eternal

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