Amid the soft silvered silence, the strength
of night’s full orb, ingenuous and clear.
A white cat under ivy peers with wide gaze
at moths alit; half-closed peonies seek
in sky their echo. A black dog pads pearlized
fence, ivory bone clamped in his firm jaw, poised
watcher of streetlamps, seasons, time cycling
like this low-hung moon. What effort to breathe
the humor of light, the wit of earth under
the bright expanse of space. In wind, laughter
carries like chimes or showy branches wide
with green crinolines. What effort to feel
like the sun in the dark, half afraid, half
lost in shade, but still radiant, still calm, still.
published as “Amid the soft silvered silence” in WaterStone Review, 2004