Opened the door at midnight, it was summer.
Walked out naked onto the deck,
the wood beneath my feet almost soft.
Stood in the orange-glow of the street light,
silent houses across the road facing,
the blue-black sky curtaining down
behind their peaked roofs.
Cars and trucks on State Highway One:
a constant echoing roar, interrupted
by the bark of a dog on Clark Street
which sets off other dogs, noise-spots
that map the town around me.
The air is warm, nothing bothers.
I stand there, scanning the stars,
which have no names, not here, not now.
At just the right time, when consciousness
of a moment has registered and passed,
you call out:
