Night Walking
Night
walking out in open country
Under
the unseen ceiling
Of a
barrel-vaulted sky.
Dark,
without a moon or stars,
As if
the gods of night had thrown
A
blanket over evening and earth,
Sealing
off their silent sleep
From the
moans of mewling mortals.
It has
created, on this one night,
A
curious combination of the beatific and banal;
Something
not anticipated, and yet
Curiously
fulfilling latent expectations.
I
cannot see my feet, but only hear my footsteps:
(One
two, three,
four, five, six).
As the
infinity of darkness draws me onwards
Towards
the epicentre of this unconscious world
I gasp
at the enormity of where
The
black-hole irresistibility enfolds me.
How
many more steps till I’m absorbed?
(One
two, three,
four, five, six?)
Somewhere
in the distance
I seem
to hear a voice that asks me who I am
And
what presumptions bring me here.
I confess,
out loud, that I don’t know the answer.
In
fact, I have my doubts if anyone
Knew
this happened in the night
And,
with brutal honesty, even if they did
I doubt
if anyone would care.
Turning,
I begin to ask myself
If I
ever can return
From these realms of quaint half-dreams
To
where once-welcome morning
Calls
me once again.
A
passing hunting owl says not.
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