Every moonlit night calls softly, Pulling at the strings of imagination, Urging the soul to dance, Underneath the vast darkness, Where stars twinkle in a lonely chorus, As the universe blooms all around— A gymnast above the earth, An echo of dreams. We gather the hushed wisdoms, Of night’s lingering presence, Let the heart open wide, Capacity adrift and alive, To touch the moon’s pulse, To spread the petals of wonder, Into the quiet spaces of being.

• Anne Sexton