Though I've never seen the stars
at midnight, never traced them
westing by my meadow, slipping silently
below the mountain edge, I have faith
they rise and grow
like the faith I have in seeds
dropped into darkness,
they too will prove themselves.
Perhaps a yearning for wild nights
and penitent sunrises deep
inside has shown me the truth
of stars and planets beyond the light
of day. That there is life beyond
my patch of dirt, someone else's harvest.
I know this at the heart though blind
to other paths of life and stars.
Faith is a simple thing
like seeds or stars
it is or it isn't,
it's seen or lost,
it grows or shatters
spraying itself thin
over fields of emptiness.
In dreams, I have seen stars pale
at nightfall, know their trails
through my little patch
of sky, like a plow slicing
the well-worn furrow,
dragging my days along.
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