Cosseting daylight tousles her hair,
chucks her under the chin, pinches her cheek. Won’t
let her cross the road without a firm hold—even
at the corner when she looks both ways.
Once night rises, shadows from headlights overlap
shadows from moonlight overlap shadows from kitchen
flashlight’s narrow way. Only in light
are there shadows.
With the yard light’s firm hold on the drive,
shadows tousle her eye, chuck
foreboding. Dark waits out the routine
just around the corner of the shed,
behind the tree, the other side
of the truck. So much distraction
from the light; from night
so much poise. With the yard light
snubbed out, night ushers her into its home
at her own pace. Once she makes her peace
with night, she sees that darkness reveals
as much as it hides—
…….fenceline, fields, wood,
the Milky Way. Night absorbs her like the owl’s
equal. The slow harmonics of night touch her
like a bowed string. In the darkness,
she is the owl.
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