I like when it's quiet,
when the rain has passed
but there's enough water
still coating the leaves
so my face gets drenched
when I walk under them.
I like when the dark
presses on my lids
in a quiet room
after everyone has gone
to sleep, and I like
the sudden flare
that sharpens the contours
of lamps and desks and chairs
when I open my eyes again.
In summer, when night
comes over the town after hours
and hours of steady blazing,
small winged creatures rise
in a frenzy when someone
opens the door. I've seen
them: some with wings and bodies
as if pieced together from
squares: white, orange, bright
yellow. Each one outlined as if
in kohl, or soldered by night.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.