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07/04/09 - (4)
Phantasmagoria
At 9:00 p.m., the huge, blazing moon, Hovering, lingering low, on the shadowy horizon, Begins climbing the trunks of the tall trees That sway over the deck of this crowded restaurant, Inching higher, limb by limb, twig by twig, leaf by leaf, Until, reaching its apex, It casts its yellow philter across the lake's patina.
I'm captivated, seeing so many boats on the water — Lambent candles, hundreds of them, Hovering, bobbing gently, like breeze-blown nicotiana blooms — Their running lights glowing white, red, and green, Their occupants gathered, in their floating front-row seats, To take in the immediacy of the explosions That will weave incandescent tapestries over their heads.
At ten, right on schedule, the fireworks commence — Rockets, shells, screaming hundreds of feet above the beach, Showering my eyes, with rainbow coruscations, Shattering the air, with rapid blasts of phantasmagoria Vying, with the stars, for places in the Milky Way. And I recognize I'm in a time, a space, where I've never been, An unnamed universe, pulsating with unmapped constellations.
07/04/09 - (4)
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