At nine the night is empty,
Soft with secrets that drift and dream.
The evening flickers bright by TV light.
Through curtain chinks,
That green gleam holds life in sight,
But it is lived elsewhere,
Set sofa static.
I am outside, here.
This is my magic,
Delighted by the tread of feet,
Circling for joy of steps that unravel.
Dancing with the dark I travel,
And years slough off in ice sprays,
Then too mild melt.
I can’t help but smile,
Wonder-struck in a rain of powder kisses.
No one touches twice.
In each a moment unique,
Ten thousand blessings.
The snowflakes drop,
Moth flit-flights in lamp light,
Yellow high candles that call the sky to fall.
Anything could happen.
Lift or stick, stay or go.
There’s no control,
And it is lovely,