The moon, patrolling a sky
to itself, silenced the highway
dwarfing our house and the hidden
ocean, waves through an open window.
A white light on the white cosmos
moth still and breathing the sea
arcs the flower petals with that same
moon singing like a still bird
These dark as a lark hours flash
stuck numerals as the power comes
and goes through the kitchen clock.
Two nights now I've danced like a stick, not a conductor's baton,
just wood remembering wild.
Sleep spells it one way, a waking dream quite another, this time
of fingers talking and some letters
fitting like buttons, while others, like loons indifferent, ride the reflective surf.
There's a kiss in all of this,
a night curl, a heat to the cool
pillow, a thing cats know across
a shadowed floor. There's so much
we miss when we miss each other.