Sometimes the city lights outside of my eighth story window are stars.
Guide the way home for me, a landing strip of bottled moonlight.
Sometimes the lights are the ambiance of a New York Cityscape,
or the nighttime remnants of a historical Venetian village.
I am somewhere else entirely, just for the time being.
Sometimes my lights are stepping stones towards some greater unknown, a place that I can taste and feel without seeing.
I follow blindly, the promise of new light a warm, trusted companion, someone to take my hand when the darkness seems too vast,
too frightening.
Sometimes, these lights are lanterns, glowing softly in the windows of those homes
I've always known but never seen.
The home I imagine home to be. Welcoming, beckoning -
"Make me yours," it says.
Sometimes the lights are alien starships, and I reach for them with feeble fingertips,
leaning precariously with nothing but my own toes
To keep me grounded
Promise that you'll stay, promise that you'll show me the universe
Don't leave without me, don't leave without me, please –
I can't stay here.
Sometimes the city lights are nothing more than the speckled thoughts floating around in my night sky head.
They stand alone, blinking in and
out of a brilliant but futile existence.
Is there more, is there more, is there
anything at all?
Oh, what I wouldn't give,
For the daylight.
