The Close Distance


In hot summer

With night sky exposed

We sit with backs to the planet

Searching for satellites.

Those stars that move

Ploughing the heavens

In strict straight lines……..and then

Once found, followed, observed, concluded in

A celebration of our simple control

Of a sky so close

That it shapes our visions

Even when the atmosphere

Stirs up dirt or is measured

Carefully for precipitation.

We hold hands for the first time

And it feels like they fit together

Our eyes darting from sky to eyes

Different colors, different light,

To each star, a name, a distance

In this moment of movement

The ground is warmer

Cotton blend flat upon turf

Don’t kiss me yet

25 Comments on “The Close Distance

  1. “With night sky exposed, we sit with backs to the planet” – so elegant and subtly surreal. This makes me visualise illustrations from The Little Prince.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is startlingly beautiful. Made my day. Thank you for sharing this. I am glad I came across your blog. Can’t wait to go through your body of work. Keep posting. Thanks

    Liked by 1 person

  3. So many things to commend this. “Ploughing the heavens” is a gorgeous line. Thank you for sharing this piece.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. i enjoyed reading this, a lovely summer poem about skies and holding hands. i, too like the last line. there are many ways it could be interpreted.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I love reading this–it’s like a veil of summer. I would love to paint it some time. That may sound unusual; but I can see this poem represented by a certain palette! And it’s lovely.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I like this poem. It reminds me of the time I dated a guy in high school for less than a week, but we took a night walk, held hands, and watched the stars. As we lay there looking up, heturned to me in what could have been a sweet teenage romance of a moment and kissed the side of my boob (bra and shirt on). Then he said,”I had to do that”. Strange encounter. I should have said, “don’t kiss me yet”.


  7. Thanks. It needed something to tie it all together while “stilling” (stealing) the moment, which leaves something untied or yet to be tied.


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