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.
