11 p.m.

Across the street a lopsided elm
leaps like a buffalo toward
the North Star. Light is gone.
Shape replaces color. An airplane,
camouflaged by constellations,
is blinking, blinking, blinking.
"Whee-o, whee-o, whee-o,"
cicadas chant evening prayers.
A freight train slows to a canter
through town, whistles "wo-woooo,"
at every crossing.
Cat beside me on the porch step,
fireflies surround us,
blinking, blinking, blinking.
The planet twists in the dark
but night never sleeps.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.
QR Code to 11 p.m.
Read this article in
QR Code to Subscription page
Start your subscription today