Sky
The field is vast, deserted
A breeze rustles through the grasses,
Then dies, and all is silent
Looking up,
Tiny pinpricks
Little dashes of white
Glimmer in a dark bowl of sky
Enveloped in a thick black blanket,
From beneath this cover they shine
Ever so slightly
Projecting their beams of light to earth
Where eager eyes stare up to catch them
And take them home as memory.