nighttime
i sit on the kitchen porch without music, candles or gods
as my companions.
only crickets, moths and grasshoppers are awake
at this hour
i am sitting without the coziness of furniture
wooden slats of the deck railing pressing
into my shoulder blades. four by fours
beneath me while the air is damp
and crawling with biting bugs

the startled air conditioner springs to life
sounds surprised to hum and coo so late,
so wonderfully late.
the prarie above my head is an alien gray blue
like steel speckled with blueberries
beside me the green black of shadowed grass
the noises of nature are so different
from the cars and lights and bars
and ambulance sirens of those june nights in california.
i am so far from home, so divorced from the easy answer
and i realize the days of confined laziness are over.
where have i gone, i as, and what will i do?
copyright EAK 1998
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