in the night the trees lose their bark and gain a smooth dark. they twist in the breeze and lean moonward in the rain sheet. if the rain rains and the moon looms.
in the night what crawls, crawls deepish and sleepless. it dreams wishless... and scurries in leaf pits and scents the air-wick with black eyes - inhaling the volume of silence without lids to shut with.
just an iris the light shuns a bit.
and the moonlight forages the constant moor of lesser marshes.
the damp cringe of the late hour stark with stars with no power to overcome the poetry of the lowest things that aspire to cold flame or some heaven's breath on a dying ember with no name.
just before dawn glass drum skins crack. and the up above is down below sifting through the pollen on the plump thighs of sleeping bees while singing to itself