i

 

fans blades turn

lazily

moving the air

in no particular

order

an owl screeches

a car howls

and the night tastes

sweet

as a melon on the vine.

 

small crescent moon

hangs low

in the sky

not much illumination

these nights

i wait

patiently

for a full moon

rising

soon

illumination will again

wash across

my yard.

 

nights birds sing

an awkward song

of hope and sorrow

their tunes

floating across

a darkness that melts

as their song grows near.

 

on nights like this

when nights birds sing

and illuminated light

is dim and bittersweet

i taste

i savor

a moment in time

the rhythm

the softness

of a memory

as soothing

as the night.

 

in no particular order

i wait for illumination

and love

full

sweet

as a melon on the vine.