is surrounded with darkness
let her make of it a chamber, camera obscura,
with the moon as aperture
carrying the image of her patience
on the funneled rays.
In the cloakroom where secrets dwell,
in the nocturnal niches of nocturnal creatures’ hungers
and diurnal creature’s darkened lairs,
the undisclosed promises
and grants solitude, awareness,
vastness undefined and magnetic.
Standing out on a hill, head tipped back,
she is a lightning rod for wonder, auricle
for the music of the spheres.
Maybe she has no need
for the visible, or maybe she shuns
the visible as illusory,
more wholly alive, alert
in her more primal senses,
crickets knitting the veil,
jessamine releasing the volatility
of fragrance, dizzying from the dark night’s heights.