“The Residents of the Sky” by Alex Schulz

A cloudy night

and so I count…

twenty-one,

twenty-two…

twenty-three.

That’s two more than yesterday,

I reminisce the eve.

Twenty-three lights in total

I could see on this cloudy night, and yet

and yet I have not been deceived;

countless more shine in the far distance

my untrained eye cannot perceive.

I knew,

I knew I could not see them,

but as if they grew eyes themselves,

I felt their focus upon me.

Hi, I think as I stare above.

I expect no greeting in return, and instead behove a nod of farewell to the ever-so-silent residents that house above me thereof.

I do not wonder or ponder the residents of the night sky,

as they are always so polite and quiet, I wish not to disturb, commove, or dissatisfy.

And when I feel their gaze upon me, as if they grew oculus themselves, silently, mutely, I cannot help but gleam in return an eye.

It is not polite to stare, I remember, so I look away.

Bye; I walk under them, distantly, softly, as they watch everyday. They are polite,

as they don’t stare like I such did incorrectly, but instead hold refined gazes whenever I speak to them directly.

They are quiet,

in so abjectly, never saying a word to many who pass, but speaking thousands to those who will to sit for a story any day.

Alas, I do not like to bother,

I insist, but the residents gleam and say no nonsense,

as any are friends willing to stay.

Stay?

I ask brashly, in inquiry.

Oh, and now a twenty-fourth, a light I see, among the clouds, beside the twenty-third, I glow a grand degree.

Yes, stay, they persist;

welcome are all who wander and to all who reside, those who are hushed and resist, and are both slender and wide;

we insist.

And so I followed them, the residents of the sky, politely and quietly are we shining down our city of lights upon the untrained eye.

Rather than a twenty-fifth, I counted, silently, it seemed as if, to a refined eye, that nothing had brightened nearby.

And so I watched; not stared; hi, I hear: hello, I endear with a gleam; pondering, wondering the minds of those who will to sit for a story, I beam. I do not like to bother, they fear, but nonsense, I assure, from here, it’s pure and clear, that you will one year, join where we’re, amongst the residents of the sky

Alex Schulz is a writer, composer, and long-time music lover. She minors in music and works as a freelance writer.