that dim glow {a poem}

Dark mornings
still have a glow to them
and I feel my way by the gleam of the moon,
by the pinpricks of Orion.
Those are tiny spotlights from heaven, I think,
aware of the vast silliness of this thought,
but the sky above me—
it is so broad, so deep, so limitless
that I am flattened under it,
a moving speck in the millennia of light:
Any thought at this moment runs the risk of smallness.

By the gleam of the moon,
I feel my way down the path,
leaves scattering beneath my feet.
Parting the darkness, stepping over the threshold between dream and reality,
I push ahead,
towards what I do not know,
but moving always
in that dim glow
that leads us before morning breaks.