A low moon, smiling full,
casts silver blankets over my
backyard. Darkness swells into
corners where sounds dissolve
into a flat silence.
A lone shirt on a clothesline
with arms walking, imitates a dancing
life; breezes fill the yard like children
playing.
The window prints my nose cold.
My bed refreshes me with its warmth.
Moon silver licks the wall next to me;
covers crawl to my neck
Roger Singer 