After Dusk
It’s after dusk when I awake
and exit the cool cave. A snake
in hiding lunges, but I make
it past its teeth.
And now beneath
the freckled face of the firmament,
I locate moths and gnats, hell-bent
on munching till my gut’s content.
With sound I sight,
all through the night,
all wingéd things. At twilit dawn,
the darkness and my hunger gone,
I flit back to the cave, where on
the cavern wall
the children call.
While the last morning star is fleeing,
I hear the one born from my being,
and hurry to him, my ears seeing
his naked form
in this dim dorm.
My son, who’s hairless as the moon,
will hunt the flying insects soon
(no later than the end of June).
Without a plume
he’ll mount night’s gloom.
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