A boy treks the turquoise tract;
he stalks across the midnight grass
While life and night interact
And Earth herself becomes abstract.

The darkness demands silence;
And so whispers flow, nice and slow.
Like the smoking tips of cigarettes,
Like murmurs of soft regret…

A boy treks the turquoise tract;
He dashes through the dark.
His heart is beating rapt,
But he gazes on, quite detached.

Then, cool and soft, the midnight wind
Rocks him on a playground swing.
It speaks just to him, and tells him
Why the caged bird sings.

A boy treks the turquoise tract;
He’s running on that midnight grass.
Away, from the insomniacs,
And the lights that dot the black.

Memories of the hot, long day,
Back cracked by the whip, like a slave,
Although it’s true he may often smile,
He prays for night all the while.

A boy treks the turquoise tract;
He flees across that midnight grass.
He’s left behind suburban class
As Earth herself becomes abstract.

It’s then,
Right there.

Run and cry and live and fly!
Tell your secrets to the sky,
Watch, ten million fireflies will
Ignite, right before your eyes.


Tonight is tonight,

And it’s just the boy and his life,
So he lets loose his sunshine fight
And his daily strife; to love starlight.
Look up! If only, if only…a satellite.

Then, there…

In the waist-high sky
of mid-July,
He roars this battle cry:
“to my last, the midnight grass!”

A boy treks the turquoise tract;
He flies across that midnight grass.
His heart is beating rapt.
As Earth herself becomes
Abstract.