Night Walk

 
I took a walk through the tapestry of night,  
where streetlamps stitched their gold tight across midnight’s throat—  

not stars, but close enough to mimic light,  
to guard the paths where restless shadows are rubies.  

A chorus hummed through bones of bending trees,  
the wind’s tender grasp combed through the thorny thicket.  
Far above, in blackened galaxies,  
starlight blew its kisses—thick as good luck & hope.  

The moon, ripe as a strawberry, dripped its glow,  
and climbed the clouds like stairs, playing calipee.  
The Man-in-the-Moon (his silver brushed adobe)  
winked through the haze—a kinship I know.  

My cabin, small but honey-lit, stood still—  
a hymn to comfort’s quiet, steadfast creed.  
Its oven breathed—yeast, wheat, and fire’s skill—  
spun a loaf’s warm sigh to answer for my hunger.  

I walked, and night unspooled its thread for me:  
a spool of shadows, sweet, and slow, and deep,  
till home became both journey & destiny,  
and all the world dissolved into the sweep,  
of bread, of moon, of wind—and of sleep.