Playdates with God: Nightsong, a poem


the silver underpinnings of the maple leaves shimmer
in the fading light of evening
I touch the grasses of the meadow with my mind and
walk through the myth that I am separate from all this

the sky opens it’s many eyes one-by-one, dropping light
like moist breath onto my dry bones
I remember how Kate looked the other night, so young
with no makeup on, so vulnerable and tired

Jeff says this is when she is most beautiful, no mask
I remember how her mother carried her on one hip
the thought of her in white lace feels like Eden; the river
forks again

we had too much to drink, laughing in the grass as
music played. I felt the bass drum echo through my ribs,
his hand in mine an anchor. the beads on the abacus of
time no longer make that sharp clicking sound as they meet

we sit together as night begins to sing.


Every Monday I share one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find God and know joy. Click on the button below to add your link. I try to visit a few of your stories every week, so if you are a new visitor, be sure to let me know in the comments so I can welcome you. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us.

Laura Boggess


  1. says

    Beautiful poem, Laura. I suppose this is about a wedding you attended? Brings me back to my son’s wedding just a little over a week ago. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the wonder, the joy and the mystery of that moment. Thanks for your soft words that fall like dew on this fine Monday morning, my friend.

  2. says

    You captured a moment with words. You’re so good at that, Laura. Thanks for transporting us there as well. I’ve seen those “silver underpinnings” many times and they never lose their awe-power.

  3. says

    “the beads of the abacus of time no longer make that sharp clicking sound as they meet.” What a powerful image. I so look forward to your posts when the word ‘poem’ is in the title.

  4. Lynn D. Morrissey says

    Laura, I love this: the sky opens its many eyes one-by-one, dropping light
    like moist breath onto my dry bones . . . beautiful image, that. And love the abacus of time! Wow! Just found my childhood abacus while decluttering. Got rid of it, and wish I would have kept it, just to be reminded of your creative image. And then comes the poet! I’m thnking that your next book should be a collection of poetry. Truly.

    • says

      Ah, Lynn! I would have loved to see a picture of your abacus. It’s funny how you don’t think of something for years and then all of a sudden it’s everywhere! Poetry always comes in waves for me. Is it that way for you? Love to you, my friend.

      • Lynn D. Morrissey says

        Yes, waves. I write poetry quite sporadically. I wish I could be more consistent, but at least I try to ride and writes the waves when they are rising. So….when are you writing your poetry book?!

  5. says

    This is one of my favorite poems, actually one of my most favorite of all your posts. It is just so beautifully and wonderfully written. I love it when you do poetry. Do you know this John Muir quote: “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.”

    • says

      Thank you, Kelly :). You’ve been on my mind, friend. We need to touch base soon. It feels like life hasn’t slowed down since Teddy’s graduation. But we’ll get things sorted soon!


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