In the quiet of a dark night

In the quiet of a dark night, moon-less,

still, the air muggy and moist, sweat

pooling in the crevices of my skin,

tossing, turning, awaiting the drowsiness

that passes for sleep on a night like this,

a loon, solitary and himself sleepless, calls out,

a long, lone mournful cry repeated, a lamentation,

or a prayer, perhaps, before the approaching storm

rends open the night sky, the crack of lightning

preceding the thunder and the rain to fall, falling

loud above me on the rooftop, the drowsiness

turning to sleep, the sleep to morning rising.