Flagpole

There is a waxing moon on high. Below it a city is sleeping. Cool wind rides the air. Leaves blow. Inside a house on an darkened street, a light comes on. A woman crosses the window. On the windowsill a sleeping cat purrs listlessly. A cold traffic light changes colors for invisible cars. Red, yellow, green. Down the road, in front of the elementary school, an empty soda can rolls over pavement. Quiet. Footsteps are heard. Bouncing off the brick walls they echo obliquely. A flag waves. Near the bleachers there is hushed laughter. Smiles. The sound of mischievous youth. A girl. A boy. They leave arm in arm, drunk on discovery. A charmed curiosity keeps the night caffeinated. Enchantment bustles about them. All the world feels different, magical. Their bodies hum like singing bowls. The moon seems closer now, like they might reach out and touch it.