Fog horns sound though

air soaked in blackness.

All evening long listening

to hiss of trucks, cars.


Shadows brush across walls

as trees trace their branches.

Gathering and waving

together then swaying apart.


While I sleep, stars glide

through heaven making

their appointed rounds in

ancient sacred procession.


Dreams as smooth as rose

petals spill into my mind

growing wild patches in

this dark garden of night.