"Show a little faith there's magic in the night."

Let's go, the sky is getting dark. Let's go
like streaks of lightning through fields
of Meadow Foxtail. Let's wrap our freckled
arms around Cassiopeia, let's greet her with a kiss.

Let's run to the Dancing Lawn, uncurl our fists
to the sky, yell until our throats crest, shrill,
push against the clouds. Let's tear the old skin from our backs.
Come on darling, let's cut out and meet Bruce

on Thunder Road, don't bother with your shoes.
Or let's clutch the 12:15 freight to Detroit
—the old Paris of America—
where any golden green's shriveled away by now.

Come on, I want to strike a match on my bare,
calloused heel and light you up and down
each block. Let's go—with no care where or how
or why—the sky is getting dark.