Night Music

My windows flung wide catch a forgiving breeze,

a whispered overture to tonight’s summer sonata.

The scent of jasmine rises and sharpens my sensibilities.

An owl flaps her wings, soars across the lavender dusk,

screeches her hunting call, and lands in a sprawling oak.

Alarmed, a mockingbird whistles and warbles her last notes.

A squirrel scolds the setting sun before she flees

the dark that deepens like ink spilled across a page.

Words murmured fill my mouth. I swallow them.

Another night alone, I wrap myself in shadows.

Waves of heat from the scorched earth

awake the cricket chorus under towering redwoods.

A humming tunes the orchestra to a perfect pitch,

stirs my restlessness with its prolonged interlude.

A cacophony of chirps revises the night’s rhythms.

Hundreds of suitors call their mates to a fleeting embrace.

Their passion penetrates the blackest corners of my room.

Reaching out, the bed remains as empty as my broken heart.

My eyes flutter open. Moonlight plays me for a fool.

Is it you or my desire reflected in the mirror?

Keening howls of midnight maestros echo a counter harmony.

Two coyotes’ staccato yip-yip-yips reverberate from hill to sky.

Clouds cloak their furtive search for each other.

Scattered mesquite and scrub grass provide cover

for fleeting moments of urgent coupling.

I rise to find a shirt saved for summer nights like these,

breathe in sandalwood and sweat captured in its threads.

My voice cracks then trembles as I sing

“My love’s like the warmth of the sun.”

Night music brings back the dead.

 Published in The Weekly Advocet #450 Fall 2021