Walking After Midnight at Midsummer
White sheet-lightning uttering
Its one word on the sky.
Here, at the corner, loitering
In wet rye grass grown high
Through seven stormy days, a lone
Raccoon, abroad on business
Known only to itself. The moon
A smudge. The final bus
An idling tube of yellow light
Outside the Rivoli Building.
Vast and troubled, the summer night
Nurtures some unyielding
Secret, always on the prowl
Down grassy alleyways,
Audible now in the vanishing yowl
Of a feral cat whose eyes
Shine at us from under the dark
Forsythias, then are gone.
The daylight’s traveled down its arc,
And here we are, alone
Together, in these narrow hours,
With rainfall at our feet.
The hidden time is wholly ours.
The silence of the street.
by Sally Thomas
Editor’s Note: This poem’s delightful use of personification creates a story from imagery and emotion that perfectly encapsulates a moment of yearning.