Are there stars outside
in the long night,
shining on the naked sky
through centuries and millennia
of dividing space?
I could go
and see,
but will write a poem
in place
of a simple answer
that I dread.
Have the gathered iron clouds
of yesterday's dim afternoon
dispersed, is there an end
to snowdrops falling endless
upon soaked, dead grass,
merging with the brown
puddles marking earlier rain,
has the thick fog enveloping
the silence between
seasons dissolved?
I could go
and see,
but hesitate
between possibilities,
a single act
of opening the door,
taking steps into the dark,
raising my face
and gazing
will either bring down
the stars
or restore them
to the firmament.
Are there stars outside
in the dwindling night,
shining on the naked sky
through centuries and millennia
of expanding space?
Is the Moon descending
through a field of stars,
are the trees spreading
their branches to stop
her fall, to cradle
her silver form
in their dark embrace?
When I go
and step in the dark,
will she be there,
on the arms of the trees
seen only
in her cold light?
15.11.2025
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