NIGHT IS NOT LIKE DAY

Night is not like day, when my body is groggy and I get tired, but sleep doesn't come suddenly... Even when the macabre darkness reigns, I seek the hidden moon among the hickories, to make me stray from loneliness... And strolling with the pace of vagabonds, I get to feel what they feel: when they are ignored or forgotten by others... Crickets seem out of tune, while the watchful owls conjure; and what attracts me: is mystery... The bag-lady sleeps on the same bench, and her softest pillow is a heap of leaves; this morning she performed a superb dance... The bright lam-posts begin to dim, to scare the fire-flies away; and flickering they announce the new day, when the strong aroma of the jasmines exhilarates me... Night is not like day, when the perfect peace is really felt inside; even my gentle shadow turns into a silver light... Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci