To Walk at Night

Cooled air summons under starlight . . .

night bugs pulse minor triads;

slugs glide shiny trails

in the streetlight between shadows . . .

secrets throb along the quiet sidewalks.

A tingle of uneasy anticipation dreads

what will pop out of Pandora's lid--

the sporadic contagion of leaves gossiping

in the spooky wind . . . the thrilling fear of eyes

crawls up the middle of my back.

Giant sticky wheels surprise between trees;

roaches swarm over manholes;

bats hump along the walk like leaves.

Frogs belch and twang provincially like rubber bands . . .

dogs bark peevishly far away.

Heated marble eyes like lasers sweep

the subconscious--possums ripping garbage bags.

Ghostly Spanish moss tickling my face . . .

the choke of perennial mold . . . and yet

sweet summer jasmine on a tropical breeze--

all these compel goosebumps of cozy fear,

like being followed by the slithering mysteries

of the marsh pond under banana-cutout moon.

And yet, awake, beyond, and out of reach, the stars on stars,

space, like one infinitely dilated pupil staring . . .

we've been out there--

by day, we think we've tamed it all.

At night, feeling what we cannot find, staring into freckles

of an invisible face, we wonder

if we know anything.

A boundless Thou dumbfounds the void within.

Still, the fabled wish upon a star,

the inner leap to be nearer the ambiguity of evening--

(and why are we afraid?)--

to solve the unreachable mystery of dusk,

to clasp to our inner aching loneliness one clue of being . . .

to belong to the nightfall symphony

and to add one note

in tune.

--CJW--