Look up at sky above the sleeping mountains, Marcus, the way night used to be, before cities, before the light bulb, before us. The stars singing a plaintive tune, the moon a luminous magnet drawing every emotion outward and somewhere, very far away, someone, something, answering the twinkle in the eye of the earth.
The night sky is the mirror of our wordless longing for what we were before the beginning. Before we knew what we could be. The expectation, the possibility, the timelessness of being, of being before time.
Before we could taste bitter-sweet, or sense the colour of twilight or learn to wonder why stardust waited millions of years to teach us love.
what the rain felt like
before skin, before touch,
before you danced in it