Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Rambling thoughts for a winter's night




When I walk home after sunset, I think I know what it's like to be a horse
or some such day-creature whose eyes alone do not reign over sight
in quite the way we fancy ours do
and who shies at shadows.
The telltale colors cloaking each form are quieter here
they require much sharper scrutiny 
than in the waking world.
I stop on the sidewalk for no reason
refuse to go on when the way is clear
because there is a strange shine on the stone
and I cannot tell if it is wet, slick, set, soft
for a moment I fear it will suck me in, pull me down
if I do not tread with care
but of course it is solid, only made of shinier stuff
than the square on which I stand.
I pause to admire the way the shadows cross
the darkest absorbing all that passes
but light darkening lighter, when they meet
neither blending with the other
all crisply informing with plain pictures
whether something lurks to the sides.
For several seconds I stop and stare
puzzling over the leaves that are not leaves
too much black and white and order
in the chaos crunching underfoot
I step carefully around the spot, unwilling to touch
unsure why, until the shapes resolve
a fallen sparrow in the fallen leaves
I try to make my silence a little more silent
out of respect for the dead.


I walk on, wanting to be home now
out of the wind, on familiar ground
not always glancing over my shoulder
when a low-flying leaf scampers by my side.
Street lights, headlights, Christmas lights 
all  are loathsome here
striking me briefly blind when I look away.
I watch a man and a white dog by the curb
suspicious, for they never move
they still don't move, so still I watch
I draw near and with one blink they are gone
or rather transformed,
boxes on boxes and three white trash bags
still unmoving and unmoved by my mistake.


Something small slithers after me
block after block, unrelenting
I turn to frighten the thing
which is the sneaking strap of the pack I carry
swung carelessly by my side
skittering along the sidewalk in my wake
I walk on.
This block smells of smoke
evil stuff, but I breathe deep to taste the ingredients
melting plastic, burning bark, smoldering leaves?
enough to make me hesitate in the haze
look and listen around just for a moment
hoping this fire is supposed to be
before making my hasty escape.
I rest a moment, blow out my breath
just to see the smoke
the kind that doesn't burn to breathe.
This block smells of apples
I do not know why this would be
have no clue which chemicals contribute 
but it is nice.
I do not linger here though
indeed, I have never walked more swiftly tonight
because I know this street
I know these trees
I know the way
I am close to home, and I have walked long enough
I forget the load I carry
and break into a trot.



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