Under Cover

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.

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