The Park Fountain

I have walked about as far as I can go before a weariness threatens to withdraw the pleasure of the evening light and the easy mood of the park. The fountain that had spurted and splashed all day has withdrawn back into its nightlong still and caught a rising moon in its mirrored skirt. I sit and close my eyes and feel the world withdrawing into somewhere else as I let go each sound into a growing quiet. It's becoming harder to hold myself here rather than to float off where the sounds go and all things not anchored to a self find a place in the night. It would be good to go there and see each atom of who I am settle a stillness stretched across time and space and there, become part of what mirrors light even if it's for no more than the length of an earthly night.