I miss the stars, the blocks of
alfalfa piled up like a stairway
to the clouds.
I miss a horse
called Dream with white
sock, and running her through
green fields, borrowed of earth.
There was a time when city
lights didn't shut out the sky,
when I could see the dust of
stars, smell the sweet grass and
hear the frogs singing to the moon.
Now I live where the houses are spaced like
matches in a box and I find myself
thirsty for deep earth, unmoved