When the Sky Forgets Its Stars
A poem about nights that feel too wide for one heart
The dark does not collapse
it stretches
a seam pulled wider
than any hand can hold.
I wait for brightness
a single spark
to name this emptiness
yet silence is the only answer.
My pulse falters
a bird without horizon
its wings beating
against an invisible cage.
I think of faith
how it builds its altar
from shadows alone
how it kneels
before what never speaks.
Perhaps the sky
keeps its stars in hiding
training them in secret
polishing their fire
for some distant return.
Perhaps absence itself
is another kind of presence
an unseen hand
pressing until we tremble.
Still I lift my face
a believer without proof
wishing the dark
would scatter
wishing the silence
would shatter
wishing the night
would remember me.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (2)
This piece is deep and I feel has many meanings. I'll be pondering this one for a bit.
This feels both fragile and vast at once. I loved the idea that absence itself can be a kind of presence—that line stayed with me long after reading. Beautifully done.