Nightfall

 

Woken from a deep slumber,

as if my name was spoken

aloud.

Only the spotlight of a honeyed full moon

sings across my shadowed walls.

Heart racing,

as through free falling,

plummeting off of a craggy cliff-face

and remembering 

just now, that the safety net

was only a dream. 

Painting by Tivadar Csontváry Kosztka, 'Full Moon over Taormina' c. 1901 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

City folk

Someone said,
the full moon looks larger in the city
because of skyscrapers-
which said nothing
about people feeling smaller,
more condensed when clustered.

Tall shadows do distort our perception of time,
such as dusk does bend warm light
in the redwood grove.

Somehow,
the moon still washes over and spills into all
narrow alleys and dives deep into dark
watering holes
with its aloof blue glow,
at some points
her own dead valleys visible
from under the canopy of cemented jungles
patching the land up.
The beacon looms over
with tiny towers babbling in slang.

Concrete was not so.

We stand closest together is
where we feel the smallest.

Somehow it seems

we will never be safe from these lights. 




Painting by August Splitgerber (1844–1918) (http://www.neumeister.com/) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.