Photo by Eddie Yip from Groningen, the Netherlands (夏季銀河東升) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0) or CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Summer nights slay you. They’re sour-sweet
as cherries, as the blueberries ripening,
so rich you have to wipe them from your chin.
Thick enough with fruit that you must cut them
with a knife. And what is it that you find inside?
Thousands of lights. Stars. Fireflies. Gems
amongst the velvet fur of sky. They spill
like the Milky Way until the darkness is bled dry.
Echo of the white tides, what have you done,
emptying the night like a cut-purse? Will you
weave your spoils into a web to bind the flow
of your long hair? No. You stoop to gather up
the scattered riches, then raise your arms to paint
and populate the sky, spatter the sparks against
the dark, seeding it until it fruits again and all
your treasures drip like diamonds from its chin.
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