IF THE MOON CAN FLOAT By Elaine Christensen, Sandy, UT
If night can hunker like a thief in the foothills, waiting to steal tree by tree across the valley, Then I can kneel, an old woman in a dark room, prayers spiraling up the chimney, curling themselves in the coils of Godís ears.
If prayers can escape through layered shingles of my roof, through chinks in brick walls, then I can hide here, a velvet mole, safe from the yellow beak, bent and sharp, the flapping wings, that floodlight moon.
he moon can float all night in the lake, like a thin smile, an empty canoe, Godís all-seeing eye almost shut, then I can swim out into the black stream, a tiny minnow, a flash of quicksilver one fish in a school of stars.
If stars can blink on in the dark like street lamps, if street lamps can pool their light on every corner like gold coins, if gold coins can link their profiles into shining bracelets across the city, then I can face morning, arms outstretched, palms open, fingers extended, each, a ray of sun.
Elaine Christensen, Sandy, UT, takes her on-stage bow with the dancers