Strange sprinklings of salted stars
bounce from the night sky
and float on the black bay
before me. I sit
under the tree that reflects myself,
as the water reflects the night sky
over my wooden bench.
I have escaped.
But not too far into
my own world that I don’t want to
observe the outside from my inside
of words and graces
perfection and gray spaces.
The star-sprinkled water
keeps me there
in voluntary captivity,
forced slave of my private thought.
The water keeps me there
and I am happy at 2am.