We sit out late on summer nights
beneath vast, outstretched, high-floating clouds
that mirror our ease with their own slow-motion selves.
We are sifting the dirt of the day through our thoughts
like a prospector panning for a cold hard nugget.
We want significance. The Aquilegia by the kitchen door
sinks into the shadows as the moon appears and we turn to see
as if after days of fruitless labour at the greedy task,
a mineral glint of stars, deep in the claims of space.
First published in Acumen
© Paul Surman 2004