Mouths and eyes and outlines of form

bending in the dark

Never quite sure of the landscape

Where to place feet or hands

Wondering at sounds from trees nearby

The quiet air crackling with otherworldly energy,

Keeping secrets from the light of day

But the stars know and aren’t telling.

I can’t speak to my own purpose

any clearer than a drop of dew

on a fencepost.

I hope it’s worth it

for as long as I can stand it.