Darkness opens, spills
tiny possums, crooning owls,
a raucous chorus of tree frogs.
Shore fog twists and disappears
like invisible smoke ink
through ragged fingers of cypress.
I spin my glass of cold wine,
savor a chill which bites to the bone,
watch the crystal stars whirl.
Empty as never before,
I breathe pale honeysuckle, place my hands
upon earth, push the night back.
