The longer you stare
at the sky,
the more stars
you see.

Everything is more.
Sighs are louder.
Laughter is lovelier.
Blood is warmer.

Tonight,
beyond the street lamps
and marquees
and neon: “Sorry We’re Closed”
silver threads shimmer
in the Heavenly brocade.

In the intimacy
of an indigo harem,
stars cast away
veils.

November 2011