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A Summer Night
by Kate Barnes
A summer night. The moon's face,
almost full now, comes and goes
through clouds.
I can't see
any stars, but a late firefly
still flicks his green lamp on and off
by the fence.
In this light
that is more illusion
than light, I think of things
I can't make out:
milkweed opening
its millions of flowerets,
their heavy heads
smelling like dark honey in the night's
darkness;
day liliescrowding the ditch,
their blossomsclosed tight;
birds asleep with their small legs
locked on twigs;
deer stealinginto the uncut hay;
and the young bay mare
kneeling down in the pasture,
composing herself to rest,
as rounded and strong
as a meant prayer.
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