Night

There is something wonderful
about night— the illusion of solitude, stillness,
where language is light, entering, diffusing, and curling out
of the tender wake of our bodies. It is night
and the neighbor’s cat stretches by the windowsill, saffron eyes
like two suns swallowing themselves over and over. It is night
and the moon rattles in its socket. Somewhere, the rustle of luna moths
and lottery tickets. Somewhere, children sing themselves goodnight.