My Last Summer Night
When the moon peaked
full rounded, pregnant with light,
I slipped out into the silver air
and ran barefoot through the newly cut grass,
wet pieces clinging to my feet and ankles:
Near where the peacocks in their wire coop
rustled blue gold finery,
and screamed their inhuman cries for communion
at dozing peahens
Past the tall green corn,
dressed in pale yellow bonnets,
whispering in the warmth
like the night was a ceremony,
which it was,
Down to the pastures
to rub the furry ears of the milky way ponies
that stood, sighing and grumbling,
half asleep under the June stars.
Draft: April 21, 1997
|