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Tonight when the wheels of yesterday
have creaked haltingly to a stop,
but before the bright chariot of tomorrow arrives,
I will wander out beyond the confined box of my bedroom
and run to the hammock,
painted in shadowy hues by the soft brush of midnight.
Lying there, feeling the silent energies of growing plants
and the soft yearning for light,
one thousand stars will fall out of the sky,
and land on my outstretched feet.
I will let them glimmer there for a moment,
imagining I have the anklets and toe rings of the Orion
and diamond slippers illuminated with light,
and then I will get up slowly and tiptoe across the lawn,
balancing on the drops of dew still forming in the darkness.
Creeping soundlessly,
I will discover there are others walking, too.
I can’t see them, and I don’t know who they are,
but I know they are there.
They are people who escaped from crowded apartments, city ghettos, or
possibly remote bamboo huts.
They are of different religions, speak different languages,
but they are all, really, just like me.
We will stand in the wide wet spaces between the continents, the
countries, and become one as we admire the heavens together.
And at that moment, when we are one,
a star of our own is planted in our hearts.
So that it will urge us to come back,
but we must all sprint back to our homes now,
to live our somber lives, each quietly smiling, awaiting
tomorrow night.
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