One night when the lawn was a sequined black chemise
and the piebald moonlit trees clicked like cool marbles
in the decorous air, and the whole condominium complex buzzed
with the rumor of my latest award, I lay in the grass
feeling the enormity of pretty much everything, sensing
the cool aroma of serene largeness of spirit
which wafted up from every part of my long body,
and as the tall rugged maples like dedicated sentinels
watched over my astonishing calmness I breathed in the night,
and the moon stared down at me without blinking,
while the entire scene became a kind of nightgown
for my soul to wear in the king-size bed of thought;
and I lay there very quietly, all by myself,
with no cell phone, because what had my number was
the stars, also the moon, not to mention a drifting cloud,
and I was not bothered by the murmur of bugs
rubbing their little legs or whatever, because
my spirit was so large and relaxed, and I felt
the incredible bigness of, you know, all that sky
way way up there and I wondered like what would happen
to me, me, in the ultimate scheme of things,
and then for a second I just felt so handsome,
it’s something beyond what ordinary words can say, and it seemed
the whole universe was basically me,
so that even if I was getting older I could never vanish
because how can the universe vanish? So then
the night was a dark sea and I was the beach,
or I was the night and the earth was the strand,
or both, and I heard my name whispered
as if by the cicadas or Catherine Deneuve or a steady drizzle
as though the whole everything knew me through and through,
“Mark, Mark, you’re fine,” and I fell asleep.
All Me
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