The city at night is bright,

not sunshine bright, even in daylight

the city mutes its colors under clouds,

but a dim bright, if there can be such a thing.

Lit trams and flashing neon signs

and the occasional candle flickering in a low window

of a restaurant---

These are my stars.

I follow the street lamps by the river,

tree     light     tree     light     tree     light

my steps are uneven on the wide stones.

Uneven and worn down.

Just like the Czechs.

Just like my thoughts when I wander

the city at night---which isn't often, I admit.

I can't afford to let my thoughts wander

from street to street under protection

of darkness

of stillness

of intimate couples strolling ahead

of rowdy study abroaders staggering behind.

Danger does not exist under the starless sky 

here.

Night holds a painful beauty

instead.

It aches to be seen, to be admired, to be given lavish gifts---

But photos can't discern those desires.

So I give night my time, my attention.

I give it my thoughts, my fears, my decisions,

and in return

it gives me open admittance to myself.

It lets me wander, alone, down deserted paths,

under dark passages---

To where I fear to be in daylight.  

-a poem from my journals