Morning Star.(Poem)

 
MORNING STAR 
i.m. Michael Corry 
 
   Woken neither by sound nor light 
   he leaves the house 
   and stands outside 
   to look at the Morning Star-- 
   drawn by an impulse 
   he doesn't understand 
   but responds to, step by step. 
 
   Small moths flutter around him. 
   Bell-shaped flowers 
   shine with the same dampness 
   that touches his skin 
   and awakens his senses further. 
   From across the yard 
   crickets begin to sing in chorus. 
 
   Above black clumps 
   of trees and slanting roofs 
   that white point of reference 
   shines like a tiny jewel 
   he always tried to reach out 
   and touch when he was a child. 
   As ever, it's just as far away. 
 
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