Night Magic

There exists a certain

self adhesive, in the night;

A certain match strike paper

 

Like a ghost, the juju dancer moves

to its percussion sound

bangled, pierced, necklaced

tattooed, misunderstood, in tune

the dancer is an omnipresence

He is he, she, and them

sordid painted faces, bulged eyes

of the horrid orchestra

cats hear, in the wind howl

 

The outside light comes on

A peek through the window

nothing to be seen or heard

except the moon

and the barking dogs of course

Except he, she, except them

the whole concert, of prey

and predator, in full swing

and prowl

 

On this canvass

episodes in story books begin to dance

and come alive while their pages

lay sleep - all fiction, but all true

- Magic - just beyond

the periphery of light

plays out, in the boundless

pregnant and eclectic night