Stillness returns – the moon rises. Moist air laces with night sounds as nature slips into the currents of sleep.
night brushes soft strokes among the flowers – their faces to the moon
A cool, single bulb picks out patterns on the sliding door, exposes dark edges of potholes in the dim alley, easing the way home.
from velvety black curtains of night emerge pale visions, their silken garb delicate as lace
the day’s tide sweeps outward into the depths of darkness only to return, awash with first light
The face of the moon shines bright between stark branches, their arms beckoning me to stop, to consider, Preview(opens in a new tab) as threads of cloud unspool, silently circling the moon’s face before continuing on in their journey across the sky.
Weaving in and out of the streetlight’s glow, shapes of trees appear then sink back into darkness. The years of their standing written in rings.