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  • Writer's pictureMario Mainland


Updated: Dec 20, 2022

The streetlights coiled

as if they were draped around a Christmas tree

and the blacktop delighted in such midnight shine

and together they disappeared into the night,

like friends that rendezvous when the sun can’t see

beyond the horizon where only road and light and I can be

they hug and kiss as I lament the apathy of time,

and curse an absent hand to hold and dread – none to share that splendid sight.

So, I look up instead-

to clouds that were shadows

drifting on a secret mountain stream

and the glinting starlight winking to the earth below

and singing they ebb and flow, slow-dancing together,

like lovers that meet when the rest of us dream

into the distance where none can hear creation scream

they embrace as I weep for things I don’t yet know

and close my eyes and count to ten

and wish for the day when I might fly with them forever.

So, I look up again-

passing the star I’d wished upon

and the festooned space racing by

like tiny diamonds in my purple dust

and the lonely moons that welcome their reckless son,

and sighing they turn my face around:

‘Your many worries,’ they say

‘on the blue dot there has turned to rust.

Depart now and go back down

before erring and all is lost.’

So, I listened, I returned, and I say:

‘Even though there’s time apart,

the joyful friends will meet and laugh like yesterday,

and even though there’s distance,

the dancing lovers count blessings in the desert sand

and that’s the gift of the present

I see on the narrow sidewalk where I stand

illuminated by that golden streetlight glow

I hold it and smile with knowing glee,

for amid its many-layered wrapping

and deep within the opened box

I know

there is everything that was,

and always had been,

right in front of me.


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