The Amaz'd Night Wanderer
Dedicated to John Milton and Daniel Dyba, from whom I stole this idea.
The Amaz�d night wanderer
doing as she does: She
wanders. Wand�ring, walking slowly,
running swiftly, following as
the Saint�s fire leads
her one way then another; and
she follows docile,
thinking erring only, in
her mind; and
flees one lamp and
seeks the other; flees
that lamp and seeks another.
Pause to think . . .
Collected thoughts and spinning
off again, the foundering
funnel sucked into the clouds
and gone.
Returning, dropping from the sky and
spinning always, without reason:
Wand�ring, destroying, breaking
houses, breaking bodies, then
leaving and all
only air, only wind. Yes,
every storm shall
have an end, yet it
does not seek its own demise.
And so the amaz�d night wanderer seeks
no purchase for her feet but
savors the adventure of
slipping steps; and the stink
of mud and rank
water never touches
her sense: Ignored,
unnoticed; busy mind and busy
feet in motion take away
the stench. She sees
the fire, finds
the flame and follows and
it leads her out.
She stands.
She walks.
Her feet
Find firm and solid ground.
She slipped.
She sank.
But now she stands
And now she walks.
Her nostrils clear from stink of the mud and the brine;
Her feet free to run and jump without fear or fall.
And yet she muses . . . she misses adventure and fear:
She forgets the stink, the cold, the damp, the pain.
Uncertain, wav�ring between the cottage light�
The warmth and stability drawing her from a swamp�
And the flickering lights that draw her back