What scents linger
by the creek
where you stop and sniff
cataloging
skunks, toads, voles
whose ways crossed here
when darkness last crowded
this narrow valley?
Their traces make
your wet, jet-black nose
quiver even now.
Bruegel could capture
it all on one canvas
reducing night’s saga
to a synchronous collage
dark’s secrets forced
into two dimensions.
But your pleasure
blooms unbarred
the moonlit moments
mapped
by their bouquet.
