THE NIGHT PARADE

my living space 11-11-13

 THE NIGHT PARADE

There is a kindness in watching the fires

Coming down the street carried by so many

Men dressed in radiant plumage and terse

Straps wrapped around their body.

They carry the lights high above them

On long poles so they swing to and from

As they go through their series of routines

That mean nothing to us but seem to reflect

A solidarity among these men.

The people without clothing follow in the 

Shadowy darks punctuated only by flares from

Lighters used to fire cigarettes.  They show lips,

The form of a hairdo, the lurid makeup of evening,

A smear on the  mascara the night wears to 

Prove it is beautiful.  There is so much more.

The dead move through these ranks and files,

Streaming through the air, dangling their shrouds

Behind them, sweeping and looping over our heads,

Silent in their endless forward press to escape dawn.

From the top of the buildings we watch this night

Parade, thinking is must have some profound 

Meaning connected to it and discover nothing

Of the kind, just shape shifting and the sound

Of heavy garments against the ground, a dim

But profound gathering that mounts the back of night

To declare its property before all light ceases and

Before the moon can shake free of clouds and rise

With book after book of sweet tales and fears,

Tides and trysts, longing and fulfillment

Learned only in her pale reflected light.