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.