Morning Stars I’m content seeing stars And signs Of birds flying past the window. Like glimpses of foggy cinemas Drawn with deep desires for May In wilds of January. Precious as palms of Palestine Precious as martyrs paraded Through muddied back nude streets. Precious as painted houses Where I walked as a boy Before learning to crawl like a man. Where I wished on stars Near stairs and night lights Before morning doves. Quieted by passing times That sang with songbirds. Quieted by the passing of time. Dreamy eyed with frozen fires. Many the mood subdued. Many the mood misunderstood. Many the mood where passing spirits Made their homes. Flying through afternoons In greenest green of memory hills On soul park summer days.