To the Morrow

To the Morrow

The dregs of day are drifting
The lowering light of sunset
tinged with orange as soft as satin,
their tails frayed and faltering

Cicadas sing in the lost places
where light does not plump nor intrude
Lazy frogs do not jump
unless an interloper spirals by

This is the lingering peace of night
where creatures, noir, frolic
Children hush in sleepy lumps
and mothers sigh with weariness

Swamps and ponds begin to hum
with the life brought about by darkness
Eyes of a king gator blink like traffic lights
Susserations of snakes sing

Only the hour before sunrise is silent
One world seeping into silence
the other, with lazy lids awakening
to a sun that shouts in glory