On Burlington summer evenings
the darkness seeps in by degrees,
a silently falling veil
erasing the blue from neighborhood skies
to carve the night black,
the backyard trees bathed in the halogens
of rusted streetlights,
both etched like skeletons in the vast gloom.
This is a dark so deep
that it changes all perception,
doubles and redoubles distances
like a funhouse mirror,
conjuring unimaginable distortions.
Tiny lightning-bug beacons
stitch their invisible thread
between the stalks of stubborn timothy
by the worn back steps,
while the heat drips down from the air
like a wavering ghost of last week's rain.
You and that timothy!
ReplyDeleteWhat darkness? I don't see much in our bedroom!