It's nighttime in growing villages. Places stuck between growth and staying in the ground. I've been seated here for the last 3 hours. Kelewele's scent serenades me. The moon looks down at me. Her eyes, loving in a way Accra's would never unmask. I feel her love on my skin, silver laced, she drapes me. The stars are tiny shells Littering the black sky like the bones of the fish on Takoradi's beaches. I catch myself reaching out to the sky Asking the moon to draw nearer Trying to pick the stars from the sky Place them in pockets, Steal brightness for personal skies. I hadn't realized this until a second ago. In the places closest to home, Even the end of good things are beautiful.