night poem no.2

the evening sky hangs for a long time
bleeding light down over dark bodies
of the west maples
their leaves a heaving shadow lump

like what rises
in your throat
before your cheeks in tiny rivers
run

it seems
we should not ask the broad night
what it means

o the circling of the ancient sun

the rustle of the leaves
bayonets of grass
verging streetlight sentinals
if you step out
ask who goes there

what will we
tell them?
what do you and i
mean
to this world?