The clouds still differentiate the dark.
At nearly midnight, light they incubate
makes silver nightshade bloom between the stars
The day I saw a jackrabbit is ending
for its only time, and I know more than when
these clouds were born a blown time ago.
Midnight: the house silvers and we bronze
In chairs, with glistening bottles, move Our arms
our mouths (but not to kiss and not to speak)
The dog boxes a June bug with his shadow
like a fox. It’s Texas- now and then a star
will blaze a trail past here to where it goes,
a bird will summon Chuck Will’s widow
though she’ll never come, as I have called a ghost
who’s lost, who’s lost someone. There is no roon
for that old desolation here. The house
is small, the pasture rough with things to find.
The night is kindly lit, and you are kind.
And what will happen is another day.
The rain -lily will spring beneath the wheel.
The flycatcher will poke its crested head
out of the martin house. I know these names,
and saw a scarlet wasp above the prickly pear.
I saw the place the star made when it fell.
I saw you say I love you to the dark,
and watched a fast shape dive into the light
of that old hole for jackrabbits, the moon.


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