Aurora Beam

Orion sways his hips to some unheard melody,
a beating of glass drums filtered through cloud cover and aspen leaves.

It calls wild children from beneath folds of inky blankets
and sheaths of midnight and nighttime sea caverns.
They throw flashlight beams across 2:00 am valleys
and mountaintop peaks untouched by daylight.
They make shadow puppet tragedies
and fairytales in the loose and wandering spirits of those fallen shadows.
The king of them all wears a crown of thorns
- broken and fallen constellations -
scenes not beautiful enough to be painted by Gods.
Casting glances,
like sunlight through moth wings,
they scream a silent and beautiful bloody murder,
painting the sky in translucent blood,
and bowing in lily petal and star dusted skirts.

Curtain call,
and the theatre is thrust into darkness.