All That Sudden Light

But not tonight, tired today. The air dusty spider web tufting from attic lumber. Smell of crushed cicada shell, grass, other. I’ve got a face for nothing. There isn’t any cost in that. Not in the short run. There’s the moon, hiking up like a mom on a hill, slow and steady and overwarm and a little breathless, but still moving and then there, eager. All that sudden light you knew was coming, making the black leaves green for a spell, and slight shadows where there weren’t any before. There’s mine, spilling down the porch stairs and onto the walkup where the dog lays and pants and scratches in the day.