from
the screen door to the thickest-settled backstreets flew
this
beacon out the front porch like a lonely light
that
guides us young travelers of the night
and
helps the twilight critters see the darkness through,
(who
are no more lost in these backroad drives
than
the sailors by the lights at sea)—
And
it’s been signaling its marquee to anything around it sees
that,
“tonight I flicker, by morning I’m free.”
The
king of twilight
blinks
porch boards blind to wake up
a
slave to a switch.
So
meet me at the crossroads to this primeval glow
that
beckons us by brain for which it hungers so,
on
the electric highway of this nighttime refugee,
and
for your fear I’ll give you sight to see
through
the summer evening winds that blow,
and
ears to hear the crickets sing songs
composed
of harmonies from a thicket by the tree,
and
a voice to utter not one more word to guarantee
that,
“in twilight I’m blinded, by moonlight I see.”
To
kids of the night—
sent
to Earth to deliver
a
newer sunrise.
--Poems from the Sprawl
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