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.