Midsummer


Midsummer arrives:
Leaves upon the maple trees have turned silver.
I do not follow the path of the rising sun.

I weep when the moon shines upon the grass at dusk,
For this, God said, is that time
When dewdrops form,
And tears are shed from angels that hide behind the setting sun.

For this is the time when the moon rose
In all of its fullness.
It seems as at the beginning of this time,
Nearly four decades ago,
When leaves upon the maple trees
Turned to silver-hue,
Copper-breasted robins and wild brown rabbits,
Darted behind my locked door,
Along, perhaps with a doe and her fawn.

Midsummer once again arrives:
Along the pathway of the sun,
I have once again, lost my way.

Only weeks ago,
When the moon was in all of its fullness,
I found myself in some other world.
Now the leaves upon the maple trees are turning silver,
Sparkling, as angels weep tears upon them,
While they shy behind the setting sun.

Midsummer is arriving, once again.
Leaves upon the maple trees are turning silver.
I mount my secret stallion,
And gallop away from the moon-
For in all of its fullness and wonder,
I weep always when it rises at dusk.

I fear the sunrise
As I fear God and all that is mighty.
I fear all that is overpowering.

As much as I love and devour the warm and carefree summertime air,
I think always of the full moon that haunted me that night,
Nearly forty years ago,
When robins with their breasts of copper,
And the nightingales sang,
I found myself veering away from the path of my existence,
And falling into a cesspool of madness.

I shied behind the sun with the weeping angels.
Their tears fell,
As dewdrops formed upon the silver maple leaves,
But my tears would not fall…

Claudia Krizay (schizoclaud)