Last night at six o’clock
or thereabouts, I flirted with
my dusky side, my uncertain,
unstable, darkly side,
when grey rocks glowed
moonly and silvery moths
brushed me. Last night the wind forgot
to blow and squirrels crashed like
angry bears while dampness sat close and heavy.

And yet the stream, so daytime chuckley,
kept gurgling – like it was no big deal at all.