Jupiter Was So Loud Last Night He Woke Me Up  

	I heard Daisy barking and barking, and something
	Made me   ­ I usually sleep through her complaints ­
	Slide out the loft, down ladder, careful on slippery
	Walnut stairs, through living room, over old Chico
	Sleeping on the porch and out onto narrow elm deck
	Like in a dream almost,  I followed Daisy's slow staccato, and
	Naked, hugged myself, shuffled down ramp and up back
	Dug­out stairs to the flat near goat pens and beehive
	Dark worries me, generally, but I had no thought for a light
	It wasn't till I was on the flat that I noticed.  Now wait
	You're so impatient with my telling it seems I  ought to just
	Give up, but this, this needs told, so wait.  Don't ask what
	What, Just wait.   I can only tell it like it Happened
	Cold, I  should have been, naked and barefoot in
	The October night.  And cautious, but I wasn't.  You know
	That's not like my usual hugging the pillow, making you stumble
	Out to see what has the dogs worked up.  I had no fear at all
	That was the night the potatoes froze up, too, you know, and it
	Took a fire next morning to get the chill off the kitchen
	But I wasn't cold
	No slippers nor robe in the cold and the dark, but not cold
	Then Daisy hushed and sat and nearly seemed to smile, and
	I smiled, thinking maybe she'd tell me what had her going
	But she just sat, like a lovely statue against the side hill
	Then I saw.  Everything.  Light.  Saw pens and hive, garden
	 fence and old truck.  The house.    Like daylight
	And A Good feeling, a happy notion took me.  I looked up
	Like maybe I could say Thanks.  Do you know?
	And there he was:            Jupiter
	Like a white piece of the Sun centered in the sky ­ The stars
	All around, pale in his light, but still bright.  Jesus!
	What a feeling.  I just stood and looked until I felt small
	Atom small, like a child might feel, but not a Bad feeling
	Then Daisy came up beside me, walked past me down the slope to
	The stairs, as if to say, there now, I showed you
	I followed her back into the house
	I didn't want to wake you when I came back into the house
	I didn't want to try to talk of the warm brightness
	But I hadn't been afraid and I was pleased with that because
	I have always been a little afraid up here in the hills
	Even in the daytime.      But not since then
	Remember how frightened I was out in the Moonlight last winter?
	Perhaps this winter I'll be able to strike out,  outside
	The range of your shadow.  It's not a promise, but I want to try
		          Heywood Williams  -  September, 1988  

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