The Yard at Night

by revbillcook

Late at night the trees flare

like green guttering fire.

The air is thick

with the smell of burning wood and wet grass,

with the rhythmic chant of  cicadas.

The stars transcribe long slow fixed arcs.

 

Soon the sun will rise.

And the elderly couple next door

are in their yard again,

dancing naked, howling

at the white stone moon.

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