Midnight, P-Ridge

Along the dark road
I feel the fields silent
and invisible beckon
with soft bedding,
breezes, willing earth.
Is it the wind or your spirit
brushing my cheek?
What's been gripping me lately
gently paralyzing, disorienting,
seems to blow in like dark clouds
or locust, silently over the fields,
something seasonal, almost planetary.
High in the southern sky
glowing, like a red gemstone
lit with yellow back-light,
Mars gleams, not angrily as in the myths
but puzzled, maybe at the wars
battering earth's orbit.
Outsized orange half-moon
caught among treetops - I'm sick
of unreachable beauty, sick
of gravity and my own fixed
broken orbit - once, if cut free
I would have panicked, now
I'd simply stretch until I reached you
floating by, one more shooting star.