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Night Air 
Trees dividing an afternoon sky
from a lamplit street,
day and night in the same scene:
this painting Monsieur Magritte
titled "The Empire of Lights."
"Mysteries of the Horizon"
shows three bowler-hatted men
with a moon afloat over each one.
"I detest my past," he once said
and painted not city lights
but stars on the black houses
under an empty sky--"Night
and Day." Part of the past I love
is when my father lies
on the couch on the back porch
watching the moon rise
on a world we call "Lake Shore Drive,"
a place of awakenings,
a dream of complete surprise
at the eloquence of things:
the softness of cashmere,
the smell of a cigarette,
the night air in a backyard.
He is such a quiet man that
at times I don't understand
what he means at all.
"Come and watch the moon,"
he whispers, but he may as well
shout "Wake up, we're here!"
And for a moment there
is only one moon among the clouds
over Lake St. Clair.
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