When I stepped onto the deck after sunset
a sliced moon floated low in a circle of its own light―
no stars at that level, only one sure beacon in the southwest―
I thought it must be Venus. Against shaded blue, maples pressed designs,
so fast had new leaves unfurled this warmest May day.
From a vernal pool I heard peepers
chirring, thrilled to be back in their bodies.
White porch chairs glowed ghostly, as if
last summer’s guests just left, food smoke dispersed.
Even as darkness dropped, night
did not arrive. Time paused,
matter dissolved at the edge of evening
and I waited.