In the heavy hours of night, the moon
                              unfolds from nowhere, and flashes,
                              mercurial, on blades of grass. The air
                              is cool, thick with the after-
                              noon’s rain: fabric around the breath
                              at an open window. Glasses fill with water.
                              A door closes. My husband, our child, sleep
                              open-mouthed, deeply unaware the night bends
                              its tired weight to them.

©2008 Dr. Lacy M. Johnson All Rights Reserved.