Nightlight

There is a giant nightlight in the sky.

It is the opener of possibility,

It is guide and guardian

To young boys skinny-dipping,

night-swimming in an off-limits beach;

To mischievous teens lighting up

in Vermont graveyards where weeds

grow in depressions left

by collapsed coffins and reading

tombstones wondrously on their way

back to where the women are;

To children playing flashlight tag

in odorful, green fields at night,

unproctored;

To drivers who say to themselves:

“Why isn’t anyone else slowing down

to take a look at this?  This is

justified rubbernecking!”;

To campers who urinate on trees

and must wrestle with thirsty mosquitoes

and the danger of hungry bears sniffing

out their plump hot-dogs

and inexpensive beer;

To partygoers who stare out

across the Hudson River toward New Jersey

-- Yes even New Jersey can bask in its light --

and see the George Washington Bridge lit up;

To people wandering outside

to escape indoor life.

Those stars; they move from dwarf

to giant without complaint

and at their own sweet pace.

They may be dead already.

But Earth’s nightlight is

awake every night.

It changes its appearance

to fit the changing seasons.

It has its moments of brilliance.

It is like you.