By Annette Marie Hyder
The day gets away with me here
stretches into night
where all my freckles. those kisses from the sun,
fade in the flower filled dusk.
Night blooming daylilies nod their heads
in a night-time ghost garden of white
where moths dance balançoire ballon
on a branch’s bumpy ridge
and their wings —
a flutter and sigh arch bridge
of rose petal velvet with none of the thorns —
rise as stairs lit by lightning bug stars
as I step over and into the light
in this pale world of la lune lit night.