April 3 : Chai with the Sky

The quiet happiness of the Night Time.

The secret smiles I smile
to the moon. The secret things
I say to it.

The way the skyline of hills, soft
(lit by a thousand lightbulbs
blinking confusedly at you
lit by a million hopes
and dreams and fears
of awake peoples)
is dark, darker even
than the dark night sky
(lit by the light of trillions of stars
and the shadows of planets and
things we will never ever know
or the infinite nothingness of the cosmos).

The silence of the moment
complete and perfect
in the white roadside flowers.
Pleasant conversation,
laughter, wonder,
joy at being alive.

Cars come. Bright lights
against the bright insides of our eyes.
Why are other people awake?
This is Our time of night.

An infinite number of constellations
sit in the sky. Bright balls of fire
(and hope and heat and hydrogen)
dot the dark, deep ocean
Above. Somewhere
a man with a white beard smiles
at what he made (or
thinks he did).
The trees are happy too.
And the stars smile
and the moon smiles
and I smile back
(secretly).

We drove. And when we found chai
and woke up the sleeping man
and I burnt my tongue and almost
dropped the glass and we talked
about how I scared people

I wasn't having chai with you.
I wasn't having chai with him.
Really, I was having my private Tea Party
with the forces of the universes.
I was having Chai with the Sky.
From my warm spot in the car.
But she knew, wise sky that She was.
She had tea with me too.
In Her own wise ways.

And we drove on.