On the Trail at Night

Spreading Phlox covers the rocks, its buds all closed
and flickering in the wind like the dim white flames
of ten thousand candles. Happy birthday to this cliff-side.
Overhead, vespers bats hunt. They eat up the evening.

A white tailed jackrabbit emerges from her rest in the brush,
her wide, wild eyes shining with the glint of moon. Her ears,
black-tipped like an ink brush, swivel to catch the sound
of wide, stealthy paws. A bobcat. She darts into the dark.

In a nearby river, bream and perch do not see the water,
nor do they notice the relative darkness. The moon
is enough to catch smaller fish. Somewhere a frog
sings, but only once. April’s chill is still too sharp.

All this, and I have no place in these grasses.
All this, and there is no place to lay my head.