We have wood to kindle, flame to blow high,
the dark is light enough to see in now.
Be patient. The rose by the creek is sweet
under moonlight. Leave a little for me.
We will love the darkness as light itself.
Let braille invent what we can’t uncover.
Touch me, you ask. The orange crayfish glides
at dawn back of where it was when we woke.
Some voice is calling through the trees, Come home!
We do not know of whom they speak, nor care.
We keep far from any home. Our bodies
are one body with doors we never lock.
All day the cities smolder. Night is our time,
far off from where love vanishes with life.
(3 August 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
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