The Dark Sidewalk

There’s a sidewalk that’s darker at night
than the sidewalk just across the street
to the south and it’s also darker
than the sidewalks that line up with it
across the streets to the east and west.
The dark sidewalk. There is a street light
but there are tall trees around the light.
High branches obscure the nearby light.
Low branches screen out light from street lights
on the corners and a block away.
At night when street lights illuminate
all the streets and sidewalks around here
the dark sidewalk is a deeper dark.


Walking at night I look at that dark,
the deeper dark of the dark sidewalk,
and I don’t see monsters in the dark,
I don’t see something else in the dark,
I don’t see someplace else in the dark.
But I do see the deeper darkness.
The darkness is there and in my mind.
If I walked there I would be walking
into the darkness in my mind, too.
The darkness in my mind is deeper
than the darkness of the dark sidewalk,
less empty and somehow more complete.
I do not walk there. I cross the street.