Sun-battered flowers steady themselves
against the quilted dark,
and portly moths fumble and tumble
them,
probe the pollen deeps;
silvery, innocent mice, pyjama-ed
in moonlight,
whisk about their midnight feasts,
filching crumbs and candy;
bats in furry sleep-suits drop,
Fosbury flop,
shoulder first in buoyant,
blanketing night
and, instinct, rip-cord out their
sheeted, thin-skin wings;
cling to the hunting air;
grasses wake and shake a little;
and spiders sleep, pillowed on
petals,
fallen with the night...
(May,
1986)
