free verse

when the moon is not enough

The street light sees a lot of late night walkers.
It is the outpost between the college chapel
and the first nice block of houses on the north side of town,
and it likes to imagine as it flickers to life
when the sun sets in the evenings
that its little orange circle of glowing sidewalk
is the entire world
and the lights of the house across the street
serve as stars
and the stained glass of the chapel windows
are so many millions of galaxies
that it likes to contemplate through the darkness
of the rest of all that is.
And once a girl sat down in the center
of the street light’s glowing world,
and she watched the house’s stars –
the flitting of the light as a mother
paced back and forth past the front window –
the sounds of suns laughing too many light years away
as children not going to sleep and playing at growing up
made forts big enough to hold them in
but small enough when all else is too big –
and the girl sitting on the concrete
looked at those stars through the bushes of the garden –
past summer roses in the dark that have lost all color –
and she placed her open palms on the pavement
and pushed herself to standing only to turn
and fill her eyes with the light of the galaxies
of the holy spirit streaming through colored glass
as they were meaning more
than she had faith to accept,
and those galaxies turned before her
to open themselves in the darkness
and show in blues and reds and marvels of the visible
the things no human being can believe in,
and her tears sparkled in so much light
and the street lamp flickered once
and she walked on.

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