Postcard to the Night
I meant to lap up the early fall air like a dog.
I meant to give myself to the night again.
I meant to feel like myself,
to suck every last drop of life from the corner moments,
the ones no one seeks out, which
reward you when you sit and listen.
I want to sit and listen.
I miss the bullfrogs’ mooing and the distant yapping
of the coyotes.
I know I’ve said it but I’ll keep saying it—
I miss the crunch of gravel under my feet
I miss my little stone towers
and the space under the oak tree where
I’d float inside the darkness.
I feel that I’ve lost the nucleus of myself
now that I’m left pressing my nose
against a screen door just to get a taste of
the evening air.

