Night Lick

Strumming signs of life, 

through the mist of dead day. 

Lick for the all. 

Silent shifting of hands, 

a grasping of the wooden case in which it stands. 

Breathing heavily in the fallen starry night, 

we glance out into the unknown for all that we hope to catch. 

What see is not of this world, 

but only the lick tells what it is.