I didn’t know what to write tonight

I didn’t know what to write tonight.

But I’d promised

each day

that I’d remember it

by a token.

So I opened the door

and went out into the night

looking for something

to remember her by.

I looked up.

Through a dark filigree,

a half-moon.

A rough half-moon.

Nothing perfect

or beautifully sliced.

But bright white,

and perhaps cool to the touch.

In this part of the garden

a slow tambourine,

A sound heavier in the middle

a sound that jangled

as it fell on the air

like bright coins in the pocket

of the night.

And a more incessant beat

at the other end —

a chirp of crickets.

For now,

let me remember

this —

this quickening of the night in my body.

With the moon, the tambourine and the crickets.