Night

One-forty-five…

Two o’clock…

Two-thirty-seven….

In this darkness

The fifty-one years of my life

Are nowhere to be found.

Nor are the two years of this dog’s being

Or the four years of that dog’s presence.

All that we have

Are three hearts pressing into the night

A rhythm as steady as small waves from a calm sea.

This small sound is punctuated by acorns

Pinging rooftops and patios and glass tables

As they fall through the stillness they break

And the insects who sing

A story that does not include us.

I am awake and alive

To the nothing that carries

Everything through time and space

That is a gift to every life.

In this ancient music

My little dogs

Move closer to me:

They want contact

As their sleepy canine mutterings

Say sleep is good

When you can get it

(So keep the light off),

And so is our pack,

Here and now.