Coon-song

Coon-song

the sun-warm bricks
in the blue twilight
              the tide-pool hour
damp and glistening
as the light ebbs, sun sunk
the hills are darker
the trees are darker than the sky
the sky washes the streets
in hazy shadows
drenches the glass and chrome
a new bird speaks
sparking between the branches
not the startled moan
of the mourning dove
or the sharp and certain caw
of the crows
--the song of a star flashing
             the squat row of houses,
paths snaking to the door
lights under the ferns
standing dark and solid
unsheltered
against the clear
depths of the sky
they rise, roofs slashed
with quicksilver
into a wild kind of glory