Melancholy needs a walk, so out I carry it at 11 p.m. to study two universes, out and in. Our neighborhood is dotted with random porch and yard lamps lighting the way for nobody and me. An hour above setting in the west, our less-than-first-quarter moon smiles inscrutably like a queen in state. Gliding through the trees, she offers only used rays to my heart, but light being now difficult to find, I accept. With far-away stars shining only because they must, above a neighborhood where yard lamps are glowing, thanks to owners, a breath now washes through my chest inviting me to turn my melancholy over to night’s infinite matrix of Beings who shine. I do, and return home with lungs full of light from outer and inner space, and from yard lamps left on for all who walk
