This is the type of night to avoid.
It’s the kind that should be denied existence,
Just as friends can deny us in moments
Of true need, or sorrow, or celebration.

This is the night that carries the worst of news –
The taking over of disease, cancer-like –
Probably cancer, though unconfirmed.

As the family goes to tears, only adding to misery,
I long to be drunk – not on alcohol. This family
Does not need two livers failing on them this month.
I want no more tears under this roof.

I just long to be drunk on is fresh air, by running streams,
Both untouched by the pollution of mankind.
In the fields that I long to feel under my feet,
I could run off as fast as a bullet, and like one, I

Could fly on looking for a target…
Looking for a stop to unload my baggage
Without overburdening the friends
Who denied me on this hated night.

As I run through my wishing-fantasy,
I am distracted by the dragonflies zipping about,
Over the soft corners of the streams in the field,
Looking for their lovers, to share their night,

And having better luck than I did.
How sad, when even in my imagination,
The reflection of my unspoken wishes,
The insects can obtain more luck than I.