Back 40: Carpe Noctem


After the sun pulls the blanket of stars overhead, reach
high to balance one on your fingertip, feel it quiver. Breathe
deep the cold, dark life then take
one stride to the mountain peak and spring
free from the earth in a soaring dive. Grab
the brass lunar ring and scream to be away
from all weight, eyes, past, plans, before and next. Linger
for the solar wind to unfurl your hair and tingle like sleet. Sail
north to the pole where green and ivory curtains ripple
a pulsating hum. Arc
between the auroral waves like the dolphins. Plunge
your hands through the Milky Way, sift
the stars through your fingers. Pinch
the whiny red one until it snaps and stings.

There is a cavern of emptiness beyond,
No marbles of color or light.
Nothing to tempt but its nothingness.
As a child’s finger is drawn to a knothole,
You peer within, then …

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