with love maxima
Night birds sing Clair de lune
from a slender branch where the solemn moon
casts shy beams unsure if it should seek her out.
It’s light plays hide and seek in the crowns of trees
skipping from leaves to grassy weeds where
wildflowers close their porticoes to hummingbirds
dipping in and out then flitting off into the night.
A spectator view of collapsing clouds darken
to deeper shades of sighs and an old black dog
on silent paws lies down beside her without a sound.