Although we wish it were. When night arrives
It is unleavened by a single star;
The moon has disappeared. The little knives
Of street lamps cut across the gloom, but break
Against the darkness. Sounds are magnified.
Even the animals appear to make
The sound decision, now, to run and hide.
No one opens any door. The rain
Somehow falls silently, or soft enough
To let the others through. The silent strain
Becomes unbearable. The air feels tough.
On days and nights like this I too stay in
Best not to let it touch me on the skin.
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