Nocturnal Communion

By Laura Austin Wiley

That time of the evening when
sprinklers have been turned off,
ants flushed out by water,
hedge-trimmers hung up,

the jasmine loosens its grip on the fencing.
With the drowse of surrender, she
waves a few tired tendrils at the ornamental grasses below.

The raccoon,
cracking snails like walnuts
under the dark pergola,
notices nothing.

A lily opens its snowy throat to speak,
but maintains a quiet decorum.
Words fall from the yellowed tongues of irises,
dissolving like saffron in the air.