I am pulling them closed, these heavy
rusted sheets of metal adorned with fancy
ironwork, preventative doors that keep
this club locked away from those with
no permission.

The day has ended, my watch tells me
the time is 11:21, but I know already,
for as I move this gate I stare upwards
at a sky so clear as to be bright
with starlight, twinkling ghosts that
grant me cover.

My eyes have locked and my steps have
ceased, my hand around cool handle,
we are motionless. I am taking in the sky
my own private showing of the celestial
spheres that I comprise of, I am but
stardust made flesh.

I know, in my heart, deep inside that
pumping organ, that I am not supposed
to be here. I am in the wrong spot, both
mentally and physically. This is not my
future but merely a stream I must travel
to reach that shore.

What that beach is, I am unaware, what
climate I might reach, I have no foresight,
but paddle and swim and splash I must. I
drag feet and return to pulling that gate,
still staring, now smiling.