Perhaps they too were lonely,
Not among themselves so much
As among their own kind.
Loneliness was a hand reaching
Through the darkness to touch,
Be touched,
Made certain once again.
Their sky was populated
Vastly, poignantly,
Distant as all of space.
They believed each star a house,
A place to come to.
Star clusters were villages,
So much like their own.
Whoever lived there, across heaven,
Were much the same,
Building houses close together
From need, from want.
They too must have known
How time propels, arranges,
Why all houses fill and empty,
How all of them must eventually fall,
Draping themselves in darkness as they go.*
*Nayarit was (and is) home to several groups of indigenous peoples in Western Mexico.
Christopher Woods is a writer and photographer who lives in Texas. His monologue show, Twelve from Texas, was performed recently in NYC by Equity Library Theatre. His poetry collection, Maybe Birds Would Carry It Away, is published by Kelsay Books.