Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.
Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting mornings flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of nights enervate gray rain.
And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the citys ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.
Originally published by The Eclectic Muse and included in The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003
