The Boys Who Danced With the Moon

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The Boys Who Danced With the Moon Page 22

by Mark Paul Oleksiw


  She stopped waiting for me to answer, hoping to evoke a response.

  “I will dare,” I replied.

  She stopped with a whisper of a tear in her eye and a grin on her mouth as the wisps of ginger light slowly floated into the gym. We walked back to the corridor hand in hand. We found the nearest classroom and took a seat at the back of the class to watch the sky.

  On the horizon, the sun slowly made its appearance in an explosion of orange.

  “The moon will be gone soon,” I whispered.

  She looked at me. “When I started teaching as an assistant in an elementary school, one of the students asked me where the moon goes during the day. I told him that it’s always there. You just can’t see it because the sun’s light is so bright.

  “You know what he replied back? ‘Ah, so it’s like a dance they do together in the sky. Sometimes one takes the lead and sometimes the other.’”

  I smiled and sat beside her while shivering ever so slightly. She rose, sliding behind me as she took off her shawl and draped it across my shoulders.

  I felt warm.

  Epilogue

  Into my dreams, you flutter,

  chasing the subtle moonlight.

  Whispering to the air you touch,

  Quiet, as the wind through an empty desert.

  No longer does my living soul rest.

  It sings and dances.

  Until the envious light does come,

  my soul hides and waits beneath

  my vacant heart

  and prays for the silent end of the day.

  Back to sweet embrace is all I want,

  when I will wade into blue seas

  splashing visions onto these hollow walls.

  Colors passionately entwine with each vibration

  of this silent symphony.

  Hope opens the window

  for a humid soul,

  dripping, wet and melting

  with each vengeful dawn.

  I sleep a little longer.

  Stealing from time,

  you nibble at my toes,

  caress my palms

  and kiss my open neck.

  You bathe me in your shadow ’til

  the jealous time cloaks the night in its damp towel,

  presiding over this morning parade.

  Beneath its orange aura merciless elephants

  trample down the path toward my tender heart.

  Hide from the eastern sun

  and tuck the dream under my pillow!

  The dreary and tired will soon awake.

 

 

 


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