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.
