The Romance of the Night Sky John Grey

I had this knot in my head
and a hiss in my ears –
and I had no wish to remain
in that room another moment longer
with all those strangers,
so I stepped outside
because I figured the solitude
fitted me a whole lot better
than did banal small talk.

So I’m out here
with the breeze that left
that overbearing crowd of trees
and a moon weary of hearing it
from the stars –
besides. I had noticed that you
had stepped outside –
the knot and the hiss
were mere fabrications.

I’m sitting on the steps,
with the noise a mere murmur
and the moon glistening
like a witch’s fingernails,
the constellations in full regalia.

And there you are,
drifting by.
twirling an empty glass
in your hand,
stopping to stare up at the night sky.
My “hello” is greeted by
a faceless, “I didn’t realize I had company.”
So how do I make you understand
that you really do have company.

The vaunted marriage of conjecture and proof
is trapped somewhere in the magnetosphere,

BEFORE THE RAZOR button ver 2

razor iconJohn Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Homestead Review, Cape Rock and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Poem and Spoon River Poetry Review.

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