Poem

Tip-toeing,
creeking wooden boards
underfoot.
Try not to wake
the keeper
with the keys
to the house,
and also,
with the keys
to the closet
in the house.
You tripped
down the steps,
be glad he's
a heavy sleeper.
Open the front door
and RUN!
RUN!
RUN! RUN!
RUN!
I promise
the forest will fly
past you on
either side in a
blur of green
and brown which
have been darkened
by the night.
Hard ground
underfoot,
the stars are falling
out of the sky!
and if you've got
any luck at all,
you'll catch one
(because there are
trillions of stars,
but only billions
of us)
Jump from the old
rope bridge
into the white waters
falling from the rock ledges.
Land in the pool of
blackness and
let yourself sink
and keep sinking
all the way to the
bottom of the pool,
and hold that star
in your hands
(if you caught one)
and reach toward the surface
of the water and
love the way
things are in that
moment (I mean
everywhere, not just
at the bottom of
the pool)
and let go
of your heart
and say goodbye
to the good things
and the beautiful things
and the things
for which one weeps
and be glad.