to burning streetlights, questions their pain, why
they challenge nature with such suffering,
knowing their glowing’s so temporary,
their scattered beams a futile buffering
for shadows. Night shouts out, warning meadows
to enlist thickets, yearning crickets: share
moonlight’s stark spoils before black clouds’ hedgerows
overgrow sky’s glisten, make birds beware,
convinced no one listens. Night fills forests
with ebony lasers, lost to human
eyes, yet adored subtle onyx on breasts
of fairies, nymphs whose eyes they illumine
with night’s deep insight, balm for all who keep
watch for spirit’s rain bringing dreams then sleep.
Roger Armbrust
July 5, 2010
