Lunedark

Crazy dark-light photo of me playing at Mendoza in 2014, by my girl Stubby, of course!

I am a night-lover, a moon-chaser, a star-gazer, an aurora-guzzler … Yep, I am one spacey cadet.

And I do not get out under a naked sky on a lunedark night nearly often enough.

Lunedark? Is that not a word? I beg to differ.

My friend Sam Knutson recently recommended a book to me called Language Makes Nature by David Lukas. It is about creating new words to describe things that there aren’t any existing words for. I mean, how many times have you said, or has someone said to you, “I just don’t even know how to explain what I am feeling right now?” Right? Yes! Like, there’s no way to count how many times because there are giant Swiss cheese holes in the English language where words about emotions, nature, relationships, and creativity really ought to be – but our rationalist forefathers were the ones making the dictionaries, and welp. Sorry, lovely emotional words, you were surplus to requirement for those rich white old motherfuckers.

Lukas’ book offers oodles of chewy suggestions and resources for filling in those gaping holes. I read like 20 pages and wrote this song. Thanks, Sam!

Lunedark, Alma Drake Music, Creative Commons (Attrib.) 2023
Lunedark

Out here in the warm and loving dark
I rest on this hill at-One
Around me not a single spark
to banish these tiny suns
The Milky Way swirls above me
a writhing, living beast
Constellations I never even dreamed to see
before me a sensual feast

	And I could fall into this lunedark sky
	My starburnt cheeks and my midnight-eyes
	Every star’s a lucky star tonight

The twilight chorus has ended
their wild ovation done
The night players make their subtle entrance
singing their dark and restless song
But still the stars shine their hearts out
through billions of miles of time
Surely this is the heaven I’ve heard about
luscious and strange and mine

A psithur in the trees, the smell of petrichor
the weight of the world against my spine
the gentle sussuration of a waterfall
the molasses-sticky trickle of time
My midnight-eyes are slowly closing
in blessed blissful sleep
I trust the loving land to softly hold me
forever my soul to keep

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