The Midnight Square

The soft echoes of moonlight,
its soft glances along the street
accenting like a little black dress
the square where I stand;

A special feeling caresses me here,
like my soul is in the breeze
as it staggers along lazily
through the leaves of the tall oaks,
like I am part of the scene,
perhaps as an obscure divine
Monet has just added me to his
landscape;

Whatever may happen
before or after is hidden
behind the stars that salt the sky -
this is my most sacred place;
for this hour is when I lose myself
in the almost silence,
broken only by the mantras
chanted by the trees.