Just Another Summer Night.

Just another Summer night

my feet still damp from

a walk in the grass

across the patch

that I call home.

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Toes delighting times ten

in the soft lush carpets

that I've walked so often before.

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A patchwork quilt of memories

such as my childhood yard

where my tinier feet ran energetic

under the moonlight,

scrambling home before

the streetlights came on.

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That was mom.... her rule

and oh, how often the

nieghbor kids would break

the streetlamps nearest their home

just to have a little longer

to frolic in the embrace of darkness.

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Mom has long

ago embraced

that darkness herslf

but her love shines on

brighter than any

streeetlight could glow.

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The firelies were

all a buzz tonight

carrying torches

that I used to capture

in old mayonaisse jars.

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Little bits of a summer day

flying quickly away

in the musk of dusk.

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I caught one earlier,

cupped it in my hand

and studied its luminescent gift

to all who stroll the edge of night.

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And then I set it free

to mate and die

so that others long after me

could watch them fly

polka dotting the sky.

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I stopped to pat the gravel

and whisper "You were a good boy"

over the grave where my Corgi lies.

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He bled to death

internally on May tenth,

at only seven years old.

He would have loved

this walk in the dark

but he is ashes in a can

sealed in an airtight bag

with a couple of

yummies and a bone.

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Life fades from us

a little bit at a time

we all need to get out more

and be touched by the darkness

as it encroaches

in tiny increments.

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It is a place we

are all headed to

whether seven or seventy.

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I believe all poets

were born in

the inky black

of a Summer night,

and then driven

with an urgency

to bright, white rectangles.

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Each needing to capture

what their souls

felt in the nothingness

of eve blanketing the earth.

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I have been empty as of late,

I needed the immersion

into the simplest joy of

Just another Summer night.

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It was almost as

if the creases

in my brain

and across my forehead

were pressed smooth,

and I found that

stress free inner voice

that we seldom hear

until we grow desperate

in the silence of what

will never be.

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The night is an acceptance

of all of the brighter

things we cherish

slowly vanishing

to pinpoints far above.

<.>

The dawn is a renewal

of trying to recapture

what was always

lost before.

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And in between both

if we are truly lucky

there is love,

to soothe away the losses

and heat the passion

that is often found

on just another summer night.

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So now I sit

in the quiet

of my studio

struggling to

explain it all

in a language that

can never match

it's sheer beauty.

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Yet still I try,

it is my calling

anything less would be

lifeless, loveless,

and oh, so bittersweet

on just another

Summer Night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MFB III