Tonight's Poet Corner: Midnight Walks

Midnight Walks
by Belinda Roddie

When the moon's wax drips
onto my sweater sleeve,
I feel the burn of celestial
beings, of stars desperate
to retain their shape despite
their pseudo-eternal heat.

There are gods and goddesses
somewhere, I'm sure - suspended
in a faint sunbeam, cradled
in the arms of a galaxy, its veil
drawn over its head, its fingerprints
staining their skin. I'm frightened

of the end, when I'll become dust
in the vacuum of space. My
psychology will not last long
on that ethereal plane. There will
be no sandwiches to eat, no
bicycles to ride, no midnight walks
to greet you at the street lamp, where

fireflies light up their own universe,
and spiders hide planets in their webs.
The jets overhead take us only so far;
when we touch the sidewalk,
we are limited, but the moon melts
above us. And when day arrives,
we pretend that we're actually free.