Ruth Sabath Rosenthal
after Robert Frost's Acquainted with the Night
I, too, am one acquainted with the night:
strolls down paths sweet-dream paved
crowned by mile-long precision-lined lights
brightening clouds and silvering grave —
turning naysayers ‘round — reaching heights
of whimsy deflating farce inflating fancy.
I, too, know REM darkening — a fright-
ful shift hitting home waves of lucidity:
Dawn, burgeoning, bent on shedding light
on blighted bliss burdening slumber — verity
slowly seeping through the shallows of night.
And in the light of each day, fear gripping me,
dragging me down in a sea of truth — no lifeline
anywhere in sight. No sanctuary left. No time.