inward journey

around three o’clock

in the middle of the night

the skies light up

in these spheres of the globe.

it’s a silvery gray,

lining the horizon

and piercing on through

the night.

the full moon still holds up strong

between the trees of the forest;

a frog crosses on over

to the other side of the street;

thick blankets of fog

envelop the open, mowed, moist fields.

and other than me,

there’s nobody out.

so the way home from dancing

is an inward journey,

to make sense of what’s been,

to integrate the energies exchanged;

the heart follows more slowly,

even though this is its art.

and just before these light, white sheets

embrace my worn-out body,

a sip of wine, white and chilled,

awaits my lips,

to rush the livelihood back through my veins

before the final surrender.

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