The Living Night
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

The angel said: “Come, enter the time-world.”
I turn, look into the faraway, and think about
how long I’ve lived in the light of an unmoving sun,
and how much I miss sharing personalities with animals,
the madness of dreams, and dawdling in the woods–
I miss tracing Fibonacci spirals on distant landscapes–
I miss analogies, meridians, unmapped roads,
and the sounds of wind tangled in trees,
I miss self-generated songs, and the long purposes
of daydreams, I miss cardinal numbers,
and I think about all the Pandora’s boxes waiting
to be opened–I miss following the one who laughs
and leaves cloven-hoof prints in the wet grass–
I want to rescue Blake’s half-dead dragon,
and so, looking up at the angel, I smile
(not yet showing my teeth), and if you listen
to the faraway in the living night, you will hear
whispers, and the laughter of mischief-planning,
and the stiff, stirring of wings.