THE NIGHT PSALTER

At the edge of sky,
Where it can no longer be
Harnessed
Or corralled
For its life-giving
Liberty or
Picturesque beauty

Where the air thins and strangles
But a whistling comes
And something in its being groans dark.

Where the beauty of sunsets
Die out like a campfire
And spit out slowly
Smoldering into the thicket
Igniting the black,
Swirling in like night on top
A double-scoop cone - the universe.
The sun
Wandered off
To play on the other side
Of the park
And climbing up over the edge,
On my knees

Leaving thoughts
Rattling and haranguing
With no audience to
Perceive them,
Peace flooded like
An avalanche
And crushed all that was
Known

To unveil a multitude of
Truths and never seen before
Beauty.

Everything was possible here
And everything is.

stephanie jordan-renz

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