You have heard of the “monster under the bed”
Or “the boogie man in the closet.”
But nothing is more frightening
Than mistaking things as having life
In broad daylight.

A car
Its headlights are eyes
Its anterior insignia is the nose
And the area between a car’s front lights and symbol
Is the mouth that never moves.

An electrical outlet
Still though it seems
Stares at you from its wired soul
Through rectangular slits.
An outlet is never happy to see you,
It’s mouth the top half of a semicircle.
Ha! Take that!
A plug will keep you quiet!

Floral patterned curtains
Fool you with detail.
Much staring can lead
Into seeing dotted swirls as eyes
Curved arcs as brows
Or even a flower’s center as the face of a ghost
It’s ******* seeds molding a drooping face.

So, remember when next time you’re at home or in the public
The population may be larger than it seems.

Though night and day cover the same earth,
Their worlds are far unrelated;
Yes, the two portals of time
I know have skies the same,
But what one attracts
The other scares away.

Having lived a campus-student life,
Later departing to seek rest,
I was attracted to Scarborough’s halls
When darkness would ink the above
And when the daytime student traffic
Minimized, which freed space hard to claim
With the sun exposed.

Rays of LED lights flash
On the library’s main outside portico,
Students’ shoulders magnetized to the foundational pillars,
Bodies slanted, neutral-faced and minds set for commuting home.

Perfect!  Though other peers plan according to the daily rush,
I know there will be a chair for me and a platform to stack my books
Inside the library.
I neck my head heavenward
As I ascend the split-foyer stairs,
Seeing if others descend so as not to run over or be run over.

The second-floor is a puzzle,
A maze of paths edging the perimeter,
The space columned with light-brown shelves of books.
Let’s see: Study room?  Taken.
A free table along the main communal hall of the second floor?
Eh, I feel watched there.
Aha!  A fine venue!
A single-person desk, an attached light,
Room on the desk for layering my backpack’s own library,
And side wooden indentations to conceal my peripheral vision.
I never would have expected to lust for nightly library moments,
But I believe, now, that my visits were past due.

The kitchen table is at the right position
Where my family and I can leisurely face our eyes
In the direction of the clear-glass screen door that displays
Views of our backyard.

On the evening of March 16, I sat on the dark brown, black wooden chair at my usual curve of the table.
There are times where I sit and, though I cogitate “Get up! Get up!”, there are times where I just cannot collect the energy to rise from a still, muscle-relaxing pose.
The setting, yellow-white tint of the sun lured my soul to head outside, the natural character in me felt a need for.
Without delay, I zipped on my AHA sweater and capped my head with a retro blue-and-red Super Mario winter hat.
Opening the side door of the garage, the setting sun continued to lure my presence to still myself before its gentle mantle.
[At least there is no admission for seeing nature run its course!]

This evening scene of twilight I had to view seated on a purple cushion 90-degreed,
Unfolded on the outdoor swing.
I try not to let the urban sights of a barn shed, a house gated, dogs’ barks to my right
Derail my focus of natural concentration.
I learned in meditation once to just let noises and sights come as they please,
For they will have their exit.
I may not be a master at letting things go, but I kept meditative concentration
As the practice for the evening.

Every couple beats I would turn my eyes away from the westward sunset
To see if I noticed a lower sun and a higher indigo darkness.
Maybe I am not bound to the ascetic life, but I would not let the crispy, invisible chills
Of the evening winds chase me inside so easily, though the cold rush along the thighs of
My Lee jeans was a caveat that soon, Kearneysville would submerge into hours of a dark, polar void.

I tried to lose sense of the clock, so time would not be my focus in nature, which doesn’t go by Greenwich anyway.
The right amount of cold air lingered that night: enough to be outside for a while and enough to keep the pestiferous gnats away from my eyes.
No clouds passed my line of vision aimed at the ionosphere, and all the hues of the sun’s petering rays shone a “goodnight.”  This evening sun vanished in the optimistic vigilance that natural green scenes and Emerald green scenes were only one horizon away.

Dance, I shall
I arise in the morn’;
I welcome the day
Like I was just born!

Dance, I shall
Unaware of what’s next;
Though the day may be hard
I see past the vexed.

Dance, I shall
So many ways to live;
How can I help?
How can I give?

Dance, I shall
I don’t dance alone;
I dance with the fam’
And my brethren of bone.

Dance, I shall
But with breaks on the side;
As the day wanes
In shelter I abide.

Dance, I shall
Preparing for rest;
I dance with God
Who brings out my best.

Dance, I shall
In the portal of dreams;
I dance high in the sky
By the star’s bright beams.

Dance, I shall
What a way to show praise;
I shall dance for my God
The Giver of my days!