A Name Changes
A spark set to the sidewalk, her feet ignite
like flint in the dark, footsteps
a blaze of stars and friction, leaving
a trail of tinder and trepidation.
(Freedom comes slowly
because it must be taken.)
Somewhere, the echoes
begin to die down, and the only other illumination
is the moon, with its Sandman allegiance,
edging an infinite path, where the dream-people
don’t notice a single woman on the run.
All the night has given her
is a bulk of shadow, refuge for flight
and the day’s indifference, a pinch of flame
that gives no warmth, the luster of each footfall spark
nearly drowned out by the wind,
but still, she runs.
The whole landscape looms, ominous
in the dark, an absolute antique
that will turn new when the sun
starts to sing its early morning hymn,
calling the birds, changing the eyes
from sleeping to sleepy, and wrestling
the leaves to the ground,
to cover the consequences
of flames given to the night.
The Woman –
she will stop, crook an ear
to what’s behind her, Babylon
in all its glory, where life springs up
out of green grass and keeps the blue moon
almost always at bay –
the Lady will return to Babylon
but she is the Lady no more.