Nocturnes

Nocturnes

(Urania)
June, and in millions
of jewel-like drops of dew
dwell diminutive moons,
This is how heaven sends its scent
so in the morning you
use your hands to wash your face in it.

(Euterpe)
June, strewn white petals
on the sidewalk cement
where now splat raindrops,
a worn denomination of coin
so thin there is only it's luster-
not the white of the white
but clear, an invisible thing distinct
as the difference between looking at the yard light
and at blossoms in its light

(Clio)
June, and the boom of backyard fireworks
Like a tree, that has suddenly bloomed
on the horizon across town
has shocked the light out of fireflies
Now they travel more slowly, silently, stupidly,
Like the particles of darkness they mostly are.

(Calliope)
June, and the juvenile great horned
is the sound of a rusty hinge
as the doors of its hunger open
at inexact intervals
on the solid geometry of the dark
where the parent owl waits in silences long and several.

(Erato)
June, and with the speed of hummingbird's wings
a bead beats the walls
of a plastic whistle
calling kids playing kick the can in.
The stars blink
Doorbell lights link the houses in the dark
Bedsprings, bedsprings, bedsprings. All night crickets sing.

(Terpsichore)
June, midnight.
The bugs have taken their last bite.
A neighbor's compressor
metallic as the cricket
shudders and falls asleep.
Parked under the streetlight,
Shawn's black pickup still ticks.
There is reason his shadow is quiet.
Who in his right mind
bounces to bullfrogs
plucking their fat rubber bands?

(Polyhymnia)
June, a day begun when the goldfinch
skipped the length of the lane like a stone.
when mayflies danced in place,
an erratic whirl of electrons
heated by the sun.
When the form of the oak, the ash, the linden turned amorphous in the breeze.
When in the afternoon a
lost squadron of geese
flew so low overhead
their wings whipped up sound
not unlike dimestore balsa-wood planes,
their rubber bands wound and released.
When the only sign of now, the night, was a crow, sitting warily, but still for his portrait
on the ball of a flagpole-
shadow lord or all.
At once magnifying and soaking up the light.

(Thalia)
June, a delicate rain.
You don't mean to look up her skirt,
but now as if afforded a periscope,
you slowly focus upon the asphalt turning from drab to patent leather.

(Melpomene)
June, and the funeral home lights are on in the basement.
There has been an accident, a little girl.
It is how the undertaker will afford the hall.
for his daughter's wedding.
Suppose in midst of preparation
he freezes, looks to the ceiling
as if standing under
the dumb thunder of a dance floor.
What love has joined
Let not grief put asunder.
Should we take the bride's hand
to find the only step she knows
is the danse macabre, it is no wonder.

~Karl Elder