the night speaks
in hushed tones
now
the birds
have gone to bush
the bats have taken
to flight
they murder moths
in the light
it's their calling
crickets scrape and cry
the mouse looks for seed
the dew tangles itself
among the spider's web
the stars burn the light
they can't afford to lose
can I?
I go to the stove
light the pilot
boil water in the red tea kettle
make a cup of pekoe
sit on the deck
alone
night is night
it is what it claims to be
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem