When I ovulate & am bloated;
when my clothing itches on my skin;
when my thoughts have been misquoted;
when the world is brittle & thin,
there you are, on the night leaves,
shining dark green under the moon,
gentle. What this light achieves
remains given still, next afternoon.
That’s when I stand at the window
looking down into the busy street:
a man with a bag on his elbow,
three teenagers mingling in self-conceit,
several bored women awaiting a bus,
& the thirsty flowers in a storefront.
All these speak to me of us,
obscurity of darkness now so blunt.