“The Dark Leans in”

 

The dark leaned in, cool and necessary

The wind quiets the

hambone frenzy of wind chimes.

They ceased their cacophony,

To let the birds this spring night

test their dusk-calls,

unsure of voices muted

by the silence of winter past.

 

Off in the distance a lone train whistle

perhaps the last train home

Before night blackens the earth.

 

 

How silent the night!

Now given to owls

the piteous cries of mourning doves

And the rustle of something

In the tall weeds,

Something mysterious-

But probably not.

 

The night is the territory of creatures

With night vision and silent flights

Of owls with upturned ends of wings,

Silent, silent, deadly drones

Red eyes like spooks

And talons like razors.

A banshee scream of hunter

And the resounding cry of prey

Makes the heart leap into the night.

 

No man walks about the dark,

No one would without some primordial fear

Knowing what is given by nature is not

On par with the lowliness creature of this dark.

 

Only the slight babble of the brook,

The brook that fears no rocks

Or fallen limbs or anything except drought

Makes the link to daylight where we

Are sure of our place, our courage renewed.

 

The night belongs to other species

As the dark leans in, cool and necessary

The wind picks up and rattles leaves beneath our feet

And we turn our steps towards a world

Of less mystery.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016-19

Tags: poetry