This is no night for sleep, the full moon lights earth's lambent air holding humidly its smothering heat. The sun, now a gentle autumn in Australia, is banked to flare by morning and mind, fueled by the weight of words, spins blue stones in cool glades, shaking the alphabet from the pin oak tree, a green spindrift to quench this inland fire to dreams . . . as the moon covers itself with a cloud.