Walking in the Starry World

by John P. Johnson

While my village slept, I slipped out

and made my way to the river. The world 

had grown smaller and soft along the edges. 

Even the stars hung lower, flickering 

just beyond the branches.

While my village dreamt, I felt the world 

become a dream. On the great hill, I climbed

to the top of the largest tree. There I clung above 

the canopy, swaying. The world had never been 

so wide, and the sky was wider still, yet close. 

While my village was away, I used a stick to hit

a star. One fell, a boulder of moonlight, burning, 

with a tail of white flame. It struck the hill, filling 

the woods with luminous white milk, pouring 

to the river. I cupped some in my hands to drink.

While my village woke, I returned. I told them 

what I’d seen, how our village is not small 

but vast, how we are made of light,

how the light turned everything into shine—

and how my lips still burned from drinking it.

John Philip Johnson has published in many journals and magazines and won a Pushcart Prize in 2021 for a genre poem. He has two comic books of graphic poetry, Stairs Appear in a Hole Outside of Town and The Book of Fly. He lives in Nebraska with his wife, Sue, two of their children, and three of their four cats. He would love to visit Mars.