I am supposed to be sleeping
but the moon casts a pale blue shadow
and I want to watch the cotton fields
in long rows of white fluff cocooned
and spreading in the warm air
The windows are open and the cotton
has gone from square to bloom
In between fields, yellow jasmine,
lavender wisteria and dogwoods
scent the air and crickets grow shrill,
while the occasional whippoorwill
mourns some unknown tragedy
I wish upon a star by habit
then find my heart dwelling
on all the wishes that will never come true
It doesn't help that all about me is blue
and the hum of the engine slight but steady
as though it too broods on this highway
It is that lonely time of the soul
when one is silent but certain
there is something that could have
been done differently
A nostalgia for something lost tugs
the corner of my mind as I sigh
toward the pale light
Sleep growing invisible
in the lonely night