Grasping Straws

A mirror, surely.
There, my face, without a doubt —

This night light shines dully, lazily. Clouds spiral carelessly above;
some embrace, and are content. Beyond
moon and stars gently request passage, trying politely to make way.
Their only hint is a cool glow — gone like rain, drunk by dry summer fields, almost —
diffused and made delicate.

Tonight has a passion in it, a romance unseen,
born in summer’s caress — in aimless bumblebee spirals, ambling brooks, in the
mindless lovebird chatter and fragile flower blossoms —
somewhere, perhaps.

If only it were so.
Silent clouds fill the sky, strangers brushing shoulders,
and unremittingly starlight endeavours to pierce through.
The difference lives in me alone.
Another aim fills their purpose, then.

— blank, alas.
Perhaps not.

1 [2] (https://old.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/89h5s0/what_word_did_i_write/dwrvson/)