Edward Wilson

What better than
seeing a star from
your doorstep above
the poplar flattening
to silhouette? And
opposite, how is it
the gibbous moon,
watching this countless
times, can still mime
surprise? A few
bats and chimney
swifts jinking above
the fringed surround
of other trees raising
their stadium of dusk,
ready, but not yet
asked to lend that tint
to the sky. An owl
in the wood behind
the house offers
a comment. And
after a while, again.

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