Sep 142010

by Keith Baumgardener

A night washed away in brushstrokes;

Smeared stars across a faint black sky.

While a faceless crowd walks about underneath,

Numbly unaware of the melting night–

Living to-day through promise of tomorrow.

Reassured that Monday follows Sunday—

With all eyes fixed upon dancing shoestrings

They’re blinded to the night’s dripping moon

Pooling into a glass

To be toasted down to midnight