On nights like this one
he’s shouted at the empty sky
His good ear has looked upward
for years hearing nothing yet
still he’s howled words that were not his
to a Heaven hidden behind sheets of black

Though solace can be found in the words of others
their sound filling a room like steam
they rise and collect, touching everything
only to disappear, signifying nothing

He’s tried to fill the sky with their words:
heroic stories and constellations
monuments in the stellar void
But these stories drift away
and are forgotten in the turn of a season
He’s bellowed them but each night fallen short of Heaven
their words reaching only the air
between his lungs and the stars

And thus the air has become the only solid thing he knows
From it he can solicit a response
aurally awaking the otherwise dormant
particles into motion

But tonight, the air swirls around him and within him
as he strips his soul
thrusts it naked from his throat
and floods the sky with lyric his own
They ****** and return to the silence of breathing

A sustained exhalation
leaves his body and rises
A walking shadow
drifts into infinity
and dissipates
leaving the hum of electricity
hanging in the air