Subtropical Night
Orion is upstanding overhead
and Venus does a dance of slow recession
with a thin new moon balanced on its back—
Artemis’s bow, aimed straight down.
The palms don’t deign to rustle in the dark,
that dark which falls with an intemperate speed
and seems a shade of silver-green wherein
the oleander blooms burn black, like coals.
So flat, this Florida has sidewalks that
seem made for wheelchairs and for shuffling steps
too old and slow to wear away concrete.
The starlight walks upon the dimpled Gulf,
the banyans widen sideways while we watch,
a Cadillac prowls by, in search of sleep.
