The rift between long seasons demands

attention while you sleep.

Repairing the thunder crack that stuns

and widens the night takes dreaming

with the windows open 

to heat and stillness and storm. 


I tried to stay cool

blanketed in darkness, tried to sleep

without listening to the midnight stories

but they vibrated and flickered and kept me

moving through music, crowds, dancing

the wonder of endless hours, colors bled pale–

passing among people, strange and stranger,

one I knew, a neighbor who used to brew coffee

with water from the ponds near the freeway. 

She gave me a gift: a frog, 

big as a kitten, transparent, tattooed.

I rolled over in bed to say, “Do you believe it?”


Finally, night evaporated into gray wrung out

morning, green leaves trembled, relieved.

I was fully awake when the garbage truck, idled and puffed.

A door opened, the radio twittered along with the birds.


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