Shadows

The words lie under my fingertips, my eyes close and there you are.

Hanging taut through twining tendrils' soft moonlight, Jasmine soaked with scent of floral bouquet, unspoken but known, never seen but felt, the heady tug, the cloying petal captured upon day's heat, seducing by night.

Sweetness.  She walks behind, she hides, she lingers; she waits and then slowly enters the room where no one is waiting; she slips her slender presence quietly into unsuspecting arms.  Do you hear me, do you see me, do you feel me cling to your shadow and follow you around?  

She whispers.  A fragrance am I, a sweet fragrance of youth who steals your heart. 

Holding on to the night, I love you more than life, you are dark, the mysterious muse that satiates hunger, thirst and gnawing desires, tiger, oh my tiger! You are there, you are near...I love you more than life. Wake now, into open arms, the arena, only sawdust between us, walk.

black as the night

sitting, slipping, sliding into the basement, the lower half of night, of hell.  lights out, candles snuffed, the smell of old wicks and candle wax float through the cracks and empty spaces dull with blackened, tarnished hands that lie still in the lap of night.  silence is pounding like sea storms into eardrums, reverberating a deafened, aching void, a void that eats up the night like a hungry ghoul, a vampire sucking the spaces away to neither sit nor stand. hanging are portraits of those who passed this way before me.

I love you

there is no one else but you

I run to the door before your knock  

no one is there

but where can you be?  

a voice holds me still

I don’t love you

goodbye

No more howling into the wind, no more screaming into the night, no more listening for that last word, the last breath, the sanguine reply, no, not without you, I reply. Life goes on, time doesn't stand still, nor does the air during the night's chill. I savor the past, some of it at long last, the sweet smell of roses, the heart when it beats out a rhythm to write into the daylight hours. I savored those moments, that time spent together, and I'll still listen for the chime in the old tower. I always have a goodbye planned, just for an occasion such as this at the end of a story, at the end of a book. The book closes on the last chapter, the last page, the last line...there was the last word I remember. I'll pick up another story, but none so sweet, none so rare, none so deep.

A Note

Listening to the wind tonight, my heart reminds me of how it loved to sing to you, I can smile at the memory of little soft notes carried on a breeze, I can hear it in your voice, remembering; yet, without warning, you spin me inside out with torrents of pounding bassdrums - recalling more thoughts of you tonight, making me hurt - a forceful wind, buffeting my senses, a never ending force from which you come and turn me around to face my muse, my tiger, my nemesis,  from whom I am falling, falling, falling from grace.  You toss me away, you catapult me into the clouds of turbulence; disoriented, I fly with nothing to grasp - a hand is all I ask, just a hand. Listening for my love, a sweet note of music is all I ask. 

                                                       

The Train

the train

the naked sound

I heard the whistle

the high pitch like call

a bird crying to her mate

in her flight, the lonely flight

hold back the night, the lonely night

the train

relentless to brag

no soul can resist

calls the lonely near

anchored in sadness and sorrow

the night blooms with anguish temptation

the day shares her heartbreak world wide

Alone

a dropping off place, that’s where I’m left.  the side of the road on an empty park bench. alone. a pigeon, an ant, a sow bug curls up under a rock..quiet and still, alone, next to a stone.  abandoned to sit, still, a park bench.  a bird’s excrement drips slimy white goo along the edge where I sit. grime on the slats, someone’s spit. waiting, I'm nothing without you. alone.  a horn honks in the street, a skater skates by, a look to the left, right. a single white cloud in the sky. the moon came up a dozen times over the hills, through the trees, plunging down, down in the valleys. a year,  no goodbye. I sit waiting.  the pigeon waits to be fed.  I have no food.  she flies away.  I sit and wait.  no return.  the sow bug crawls to the next rock, the ant walks home.  on a breeze, the cloud lingers, disappears.  the whistle of a train, I hear.  I’m here, alone.

Air

my god, the air burns without you!

my god, the air is empty without you!

my god, the air is cold, now colder without you!

I hung up my coat, I threw down my gloves, I can’t breath the air without you!

the sky is darker than pitch, I can’t see past the horizon without you!

silver white bolts streak across the heavens, a great bright light, but my god, I can’t see without you!  into the abyss, the molten lava flows, down through the ages, since the beginning of time plunging my soul, the heat touching my heart, my veins, runs the blood of time, but my god, my soul, I can’t live without you!

 

How do I touch you, without touching you?

It’s over.

It’s hard to know when something is over, without a beginning.

The day started out like any other day, ordinary.  I wrote, I read, I went out to play, just like any other ordinary day.

I didn't know how small or how large a part I would play, but we found each other, and we played with words, around her life and in mine.  Soundlessly lurking, that’s how it was to be, for her, not for me.  Words came easy, and then got hard from experimenting with taboos, my guess.  I said, “I love you.” 

She leaned the umbrella of words in front of the sun, blocking out the rays, a shadow crossed her face.  I leaned in and pulled back the umbrella to pick up my words from across the arc, the static was palpable.  I needed to see clearly those eyes her pictures revealed, only her eyes could tell a truth she so cleverly hid with the manipulation of her umbrella.  She needed to maintain, she said, a distance from the sun.  I experimented with speaking the truth, at least truth as I perceived, but it was not how she saw it.

I sheltered my words against a wall, the wall she leaned against from her side, balance is what was between us, a solid wall of balance and shelter and protection and shadows to hide beside.   When my words got too close, the wall grew higher, when I shortened my words, the shadow receded and I could catch a glimpse, just a fraction of a nose, a forehead, a chin, and even an eye on occasion.

Experimentation grew forced, I couldn't keep it up, for wanting to see her whole face.  I was tired, I was weary, and I was frustrated knowing there was a whole face behind that hiding place.  I knew it was wrong for me to head into that space, but I was overwhelmed with a feeling I couldn't fathom as real.  I needed to find realness somehow, someway, someday.

She wasn't receptive, she found me critical and offensive, attacking her sensibilities, her norm, her quiet time, her aloneness, her cultivated art.  I wanted to change all of that, the stupid being that I am; why couldn't I just be satisfied to lurk in the way she did?  Impatience comes with my territory.  

I am sorry for my honesty with my words. Perception is everything.  Experimentation without perception becomes a danger zone.  We never established what the word friendship meant to either of us.  The deep connection, as she said, was there.  But what does that mean when two people can’t build on that connection?  It is too deep to delve, too deep to unearth, is it as deep as Murakami’s well he put his character in, that god awful well, the solitude that nothing else can describe, I felt it, yes, I know it.

Can I change who I am to meet the needs of someone else, when I really don't know what those needs are unless they become revealed?  Or is it another’s responsibility to bend the umbrella back a bit and let a ray shine into the daylight hours, or is it to be two people who climb the wall at the same time, rock by rock, one stone at a time, again and again; crawling with only bloody stumps; fingers left behind, leaving a swath of stain that marks the very spot two people gave into the disastrous place of letting go and refusing entry.

“I'm fucking sorry”, she said.

I pivot around and take in a glimpse of daylight on my side of the wall, but when I look up I see a black cloud above my head, so black I can’t recognize where the wall is any longer.  I cry for that wall, for the prints our fingers left upon each stone.  I cry for the moments I lost while hunting and not finding; for looking and not seeing, for searching by day and by night, only finding a closed umbrella and no one standing there.

I cry with that empty feeling in my gut, my throat closes, the water in my eyes stream down and fall onto my chest, my breast, my belly, my lap.  I can’t see for the loss that is in front of me.  I can no longer see what it is I was trying to find.  I can not longer see for the dark shadows that now cover my heart. 

I lost.  I experimented, I searched, I dug into that well, and I lost; the light, the only way to find an opening was through the light.  I plunged into darkness, the hell that seizes the muscles, the pain beneath the layers of skin of holy need.  I was no longer needed.  Plain and simple:  She didn't need me.

I died a death that day, there was no turning; neither front nor sideways, not to the left, nor to the right; no amount of pleading would work, for she shut the door soundly, and the window and the curtain, she shut every avenue I could walk down.  I stood.  I stood in the dark, and that’s where I remain.

No compromise - No middle ground - No mediation - Non existent.

I thought about butterflies today. I thought about how beautiful they are; I thought how beautiful my once upon a time friend was to me, once upon a time.  I thought about how these delicate wings try so hard to keep a body floating up in the air.  I thought of her.

I wondered at the human balance.  Whatever that balance was, I lost that balance in a few hard truthful words - I upset her balance; a teeter-totter balance that was difficult to maintain – I caused her to fall because of the weight of me.  I can only enter into a butterfly's world by watching from afar, I cannot touch, I can only tearfully watch, for if I touch a wing, the butterfly will surely die, and so will I.

  

Once Upon a Time

Tears came down..tears dried up along the way

I wish there were a better way to say I love you

holding you, loving  you, weeping stories, shed day after day

I clasp your hand, I open the palm and hold it to my tear wet cheek

I can feel your pulse, and with every beat I loose a dream, that last night of hope and longing for acceptance.

Do I speak, will you listen, a song never sung, a word never written, a time without laughter, and sorrow gains the threshold

lost are the glorious waves, gone with the tide; sand prickling our toes, salt air filling our lungs, filling with a richness, a harmony of music unspoken to wipe away the tears; I cannot stay, I cannot say:  I will always love you.

In my dream

a little poem when you lose someone you love

I dreamed a dream, you were in my dream it seemed

walking, hopping, skipping jumping

running in my dream, it seemed

I loved you once, I loved you twice

the second time was awfully nice

you sat beside me in my dream

you told me stories, dreams of ice cream

I couldn't play, I scared you away

to you and to me, what could I say

I let you go, I threw you away

lonely now without my dream

lonely days and lonely nights

no longer in my dreams

never to return, it seems

I cry in my sleep now

I cry in the day too

I cry every night without my dream

I cry all for you, it would seem

I DELIBERATELY

       

I deliberately said the things one friend doesn't say to another

I deliberately made you angry  

I deliberately threw you under the bus

I deliberately hurt you

I deliberately caused you pain

I deliberately caused myself pain

How many ways can you cut off your arm

How many ways can you shut a door

How many ways can you say goodbye

How many ways can you say I love you

…...and this is why I deliberately…..

Moth, a Tapestry

Evening brushed air against moth’s strong wings and sturdy body, she stretched and then darted around and between the leaves of gold, yellow and green, leaves tinged with  hues of autumn, with just enough color to camouflage the moth’s rusty stripped wings, to fly, to flit, to land for a while, just a bit.

She perched in mid flight, what an incredible sight, supping nectar off honey soaked blossoms of brilliant red to cool white, the moth wasn't particular just as long as the flavor satisfied and fueled her tiny body for flight to next stop...until next landing on an old fence post in morning shadows surrounded by warming fragrant fields.

Moth becomes a dormant winged butterfly with leaden body but wings so fast a hummingbird takes shame; now waiting in comfort away from day’s dark furrowed earthy fields of browns, resting in night’s closing hues, away, away from the bright burning rays of day.

Knock-knock, Enter Once, Enter Twice

Love is an old word, a blown out of proportion cumbersome old word

What keeps its endurance...Maybe it is exercising it, playing and bouncing it around a bit? 

I am old, the word is old – it is work, yes, it is as old as me and it is work.  Yet love is a new word, a young word, I am beyond young; I cannot seem to clean up this mess of a word, is it for the young or is it for the old?    

   

Love strokes the ego, the breast, the mind and the senses to nest

Love alters passageways, trails, and pathways

Love seeks to care, to share, to spare

Love frames a picture, masks a painting, takes out memory

A shelter in a storm, a soothing salve, and a cooling cloth covering hurt.  Love puts out the fires, makes believe, holds your hand and quenches desires

You do what has to be done, there is no fun, love blinds, coerciveness shames and bludgeons dreams, can love bloom again, can it grow stronger, everlasting, beautiful as only love can swell the earth, swelling the heart, and endures and lasts

Love is everywhere, love unfurls its masts, it cheats the best, takes the heart into full arrest, control is gone, a free spirit arises into the far and beyond, the conscience labors float away on clouds of grey, and where blue bird flies through the rain and sings, and buds of love show off into a new spring

one in a million

a million, a million and one times - another poem maybe, maybe another story, maybe. i just don't know what tonight will bring.

i feel as though these words, a poem, a story, nothing can cure time gone astray

i feel as though the world just spun around, forgetting to take me on its way

i feel as though I've let what is meaningful slip away

i feel as though the days grow long

I feel as though the flowers grow old without you along

i feel the emptiness expand and tear away at my soul without song

i feel...what are these words..... to feel?

i feel as though my life is on hold, never ending and burnt

I feel as though there aren't enough tears to fill the void, to put out this hurt

Chapter One: The Little Girl and the Fish

The little girl sat on the edge of the river, dangling her toes, daydreaming “I wonders, and what-ifs”, what if I were a fish?

Just then a little fish jumped out of the water and kissed her on the tip of her nose!

So startled out of her reverie, she batted it away and dashed homeward bound

Her feet never touching the ground

I wonder if the little girl will come back to the river bank to let the fish tickle her toes again, without worrying about one jumping out of the water to kiss her on the nose.....?

The little girl ran home and went to her room. She thought and thought and thought about what happened by the river bank. She reacted badly. She knew. She was surprised, but who ever heard of a fish jumping out of the water to kiss a little girl on the tip of her nose? Fish jump out of the water all the time, but this was just unheard of!

She thought and thought and thought.... she could only ask the question – why? She thought some more. I will go back to the river bank and ask the fish.

I watched the little girl walk slowly, slowly, slowly back to the river. Her mother told her to play, but be careful.

Mom, I will be

I know, she said

The little girl stepped quietly through the forest of trees. Birds were there. She could tell they were talking to her.  A beautiful day to stay they said. She knew she should, If only I could, she said.

So frightened of the fish that jumped out of the water to kiss the tip of her nose, but wanting to tell the fish she was sorry she ran away, she couldn't decide which foot went before the other. Was it left right left, or was it right left right?

Confused, she abruptly sat down on an old hollow log, a log she passed a million times on her way to the river to dangle her toes. But today her toes, connected to her feet, would not go. What do I do now? She asked herself. She sat quietly. 

She must have sat there for a day, it seemed to her, a minute at most I'm sure. Should I go or stay? At that moment a small bird flew down to sit next to her on the log. Then something green hopped into her lap, a frog.

She didn't bat them away, she learned her lesson, and this time she sat very still and waited. The bird chirped, the frog croaked.

Well little girl, are you going to just sit there all day, or are you going to get up and be on your way? She wasn't sure, she thought, birds and frogs can't talk!

The little girl continued to sit on the log until she felt like a bump. She laughed at herself, a bump on a log. 

Chirp-chirp, croak-croak, in unison the bird and the frog said, little girl, little girl, it's time we moved on. The little girl was so busy worrying about the fish, she jumped in alarm.

Why are you talking to me, she asked the bird and the frog. And what do you mean "we"? Chirp-chirp, the bird flew into the air and tousled the little girl’s hair. We should hurry, the bird said, before something comes along furry. The frog jumped off of the little girl's lap, and out of the log a wombat waddled. Yes indeed, a wombat!

The light in the window went out in the kitchen. The little girl never knew. She didn't look back, she just sat on the log and thought about this funny furry creature looking up at her from her hollowed out log.

What are you? she said to the little animal staring up into her eyes. 

I'm a Wombat
What's a Wombat? She asked.
I'm a little furry animal that lives in this log. I've come to walk you, Bird, and Frog to the river to see the fish.

I don't know why any of you feel you need to walk me to the river to see the fish that jumped out of the water and kissed the tip of my nose while I was dangling my toes.

The Wombat sat and wondered.

Because we are your new friends, Miss Blue Bird chirped her name, Freddy Frog said his name with a croak.  And Willy Wombat told the little girl his name and waddled around.

Frog hopped and plopped into a puddle of mud, I'm not going anywhere if you're going to be a dud, he said to the little girl.

Bird flew in circles. Come on! Come on! Bird chirped. We'll be late.  

The little girl stood. I don't have a date!

Yes you do, yes you do, yes you do. The three new friends said to the little girl.
The little girl scratched her head. I think I should have stayed in bed! 

The fish are waiting to tickle your toes, Frog said as he hopped out of the puddle of mud.

The little girl decided it best to keep walking to the river's edge. Miss Blue Bird flew, Freddy Frog hopped, and Willy Wombat waddled in and out of the thickets and the hedge.

The little girl was just called the little girl. 

She didn't have a name, not like her new friends.  She sat on the edge of the river thinking about this. She told this to the fishes in the river.  She told this to Miss Blue, Freddy and Willy.  They sat down beside her and listened.  

They said to the little girl, it didn't matter to them if she had a name or not, because she was still who she was, with or without. She became still and wondered, but with disbelief. Everyone has a name, so why not me too, she asked.

The fishes swam around her toes, but since she was too busy thinking her deep thoughts, she forgot and stuck her toes in the water.  The little fishes tickled her toes again, but this time she just giggled.  It tickled.

One little fish saw her smile, and in that moment, the little fish jumped out of the water and kissed the little girl on the tip of her nose.  Oh! The little girl said, startled.  But this time she didn't bat the fish away or run home.  She knew it was because she wasn't frightened, she had her new friends beside her.  

The little fish jumped out of the water again, and in the blink of an eye, he told her he was called The Little Fish.

Not all can have a name, he said, as we think of a name...

Nevertheless, all precious creatures still the same

Now what do I do, she wondered….what if, she thought….?

The little girl sat on the edge of the river bank and dangled her toes….

To her ankles...to her knees...her hips, her waste, her chest, her eyes and nose.

I cannot stay, she told her friends.  And in another blink of an eye, she swam away.

Goodnight, Bird, Frog, Wombat and Little Girl Fish

The moon looked down and winked and blinked, and the spoon ran away with the dish

The Little Girl and The Fish

continues...

Part 2 ~ The River

.........The Little Girl swam and swam, faster than her friend, the fish, could swim.  Catch me, she said, and all that was heard were the bubbles that came from her mouth.  She swam faster, but her friend couldn't keep up, instead, he turned around and headed back to the edge of the pond, where small fish gathered to play in the shallows of weeds and muddy water.

The Little Girl came to a big pool that turned her around and around, water came splashing down from a giant waterfall.  The current took her under, deeper than she had intended to go. She needed to come up to the surface soon before she lost all of the air in her lungs, but the swirling water wouldn't let her go, and deeper and deeper she went into darkness, hitting rocks and weeds, catching her arms and legs, then the tug of the water tore her loose and pulled her deeper and deeper.  She was dragged down, until no light at all filtered through the darkness.

Disoriented and afraid, she was lost completely now, exhausted, her breath was gone. The current played against her lifeless body, and just then a ledge appeared out of nowhere, she was lifted up from the water as if floating on water wings, then gently placed on dry moss, the entrance to an underwater cave.

Part 3 ~ The Rainbow Room

Lie still, a voice whispered close to her ear, lie still.  The Little Girl didn’t move, actually she couldn’t even open her eyes, she was sorely afraid it was all too real.  Had she drowned?  Was she dead?  

Open your eyes Little Girl, open your eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, afraid to move, she opened her eyes, blinking uncontrollably but keeping herself as still as still could be.  

Do not move, Little Girl, the voice again whispered, you are near the edge of the ledge of the entrance to the cave of all things bright and beautiful.

The Little Girl stared straight ahead, only to see the rush of water tumbling over mountainous rocks from where she had come, and the roar was deafening, but still she heard the voice whispering in her ear, be not afraid.

The Little Girl felt a touch on her back, and soon she was being lifted and carried away from the edge of the ledge, and into a bright sparkling room, or it appeared to be a room, for the walls were covered in glowing shells, shells like she had never seen before; she was motionless, she was speechless, she was being carried, but wasn't sure how or why; she had two feet, she was able to walk, she was sure of it, at least the last time she looked she had two feet.  But for now all she could see and think about where the bright sparkling walls that illuminated the room of shells with bright colored lights, rainbows, millions and millions of rainbows, shells of every shape and color of the rainbow.

Let It Go

Let it go I say! I can't, I can't. I fight.

Something delicate and sweet at my finger tips, on the tip of my tongue, in a whispered word something soft spoken, a poem, a rhyme, a saying about time. How far do I travel, how far should I roam, do I reach out and pluck it, or snatch it from thin air? Do I travel the highways and byways, do I stray from home? How far do I search, how far until I'm lost, how far do I roam?

Someone soft and beautiful I see. Can't be me, it’s someone far, far away, over land and into the sea. It’s fragile, a petal, a snow flake, a bird's song. Soft as a baby's touch, I border disbelief; thoughts fail me now.....I’m almost there, almost there. I can't fight the intricate softness of the sounds of the nightingale, or the touch of your hair. Feelings become a plural word, defines Who.  We.  Are.  Do we exist if the absence of feelings? How many words define me as complete, whole, or falling asleep with the word love written upon my lips; a three dimensional word, clutched between two hands?  Hear it...see it...feel it beat, taste these feelings...no physical explanation for being filled... full…Bursting…Breaking…Drinking to fullness

Soda…Beer…Champagne bubbles, bubbling over; effervescent foam tipped with tears, falling empty, hollow, without feelings.  I wonder do you stop feeling when you run out of tears.  I wonder who I am, some days, some days I'm full, some days I'm empty, flat.  What causes meanderings and fluctuations? - Or just lumpy clam chowder this week? I think it’s time to sleep. 

Dreams of broken pieces gone sailing across the universe: fragments, filaments, anchoring time, the compendium of life.  Vibrations!  Can you hear them?  Can you feel them?  Worlds collide!  Tears - A river, a breach in the bank, a hurt, an ache in the heart.  Let it go, let it go, let it go to the shore.  Let it go no more into your eyes. 

She enters the path, a long winding path; the gate is open at the end of the path.  She runs to the stream, a long winding stream, the stream is cold, but she crosses the stream.  A field of blooms, wide open with blooms; walk ahead, walk ahead, step gently through the blooms - One step at a time, one quiet movement through time. Don’t wake the frogs and the birds; the sleeping day is captured in time.

Cotton Candy Dreamscape

Floating, floating off across the rivers, the plains, through the clouds of puffy white...sweet dreams conjure candy; cotton candy tasted by you, you...the world in all its wonder, oh to wonder, to wander the length of time. Never ending… never going forward, just standing still, times to enjoy the now, but time takes off again, never ending speed. I trip, I fall, I pick myself up to climb the wall...always a wall...too tall. Lay me down to sleep in the green meadows, where streams run clear...so close, so near. I fear. Memories go past in time, halting for one true second in time. Stop, starting up again…a blur, the noise of an ocean's roar...stings the water, salty water…close your eyes, the ocean cries tears in your eyes. Always comes back to time gone by...bygones, silent bygones rush to wake my soul. remember, no, remember to slow, go slow...grip the railing as you fly higher into the clouds, don’t look down, don't look back...fly through the cotton candy, lick the sweetness from your lips...taste life, now...not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now.

Night Musings

Letting mind go where it wants to go, oh the relief, the life, the floating away of grief where sorrow encases a big pile of heavy days load, and time shovels the crud away. Scoop by scoop by scoop, one scoop a day, one scoop away. Weight bogs and bends and buries. You cry and sigh and terry. Wishing and hoping away the bad dreams, the yesterdays, the good, the bad, the in-betweens.  Feet slogging through mud until boots are sucked beneath the surface, and bare feet become shiny and glossy crimson, meeting hot coals beneath the mud.

A voice in sadness beckons from reading words, Murakami...reminding of a marriage...sleeping next to someone, feeling alone, to lie beside and feel alone....how sad it is to be next to that someone. Never so unbearable, oppressive, depressive, smothering as the mud bogging down, sucking feet into hot coals, waiting for that day of freedom, to walk with bare feet across cooling grass...reaching a place of calm.

Morning breaks. Cool air takes care. Blue skies wash over eyes. Tears dry. Musings call, call, call me home to ramble in thought, set free as a feather, to float in the air, drifting words, catching words, tossing words up, up and up off the ground...light beckons, light as a feather, no sadness to be found.

Green Light Waltz

Time, time, time watching little green lights flicker on, then off...a day of contemplation as a little green light flickers through the day, on then off, on then off, holding still; off in a flash, gone in hopes of coming back...then on, then off, then out, gone, gone into the cold of the night. No light: Out of sight. Here, then gone, gone, gone, one two three, one two three, where might you be?  Tomorrow the sun; up, up, up: Tomorrow, always tomorrow. Bright sunny days, or cloudy, or rain...tomorrow; a little green light flickers on, flickers off....another day of contemplation. Will it be here tomorrow, with or without sorrow - On then off, on then off? Wondering, wondering, will my light be on, or off, on or off....through the day, through the night, through a bright sunny day....or here, out of sight: Contemplations of green taking flight, high, higher than most, or low to the ground, watching the bright green light dance...with a smile or a frown, a smile or a trance? On or off; contemplating moods, falling to sleep, falling, falling, and then falling into, into  the flickering green of a little bright light in the night.....