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 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 walk seven and three-fourths times around the world,
for good luck,
and while I am out I will discover there are others walking, too
people who escaped from crowded apartments and bamboo huts and city ghettos
but are all, really, just like me.
We will stand in the wide wet spaces between continents,
letting our shining feet drag across the moonless surface of the seas,
and then suddenly begin to play a game of soccer,
all as one team, kicking up stars with our toes,
and watching them soar in a bright blinking arc
into the ceiling of the heavens,
until each of us has only one glimmering star left on each toe,
and we must all sprint back to our homes
to live our somber lives, each quietly smiling, awaiting
tomorrow night.