summer nights

it stills my heart unlike anything but a walk along a windswept beach.
at night, when the sky's canvas has just fallen into a shade past twilight, there's a stillness in the air that i don't often feel. i go inside when it gets dark. it's a shame.

like a child, i'll just float in the pool, gazing up at the scrapbook of stars and night-clouds and satellites, away from the world for a while. wonder and awe my companions in the stillness. clapping the stray bat away from the backyard and back into the sky. my dog confused, thinking the applause was for her, and wondering why my gaze is fixed up at the nothingness above her head.

it lends clarity.
lent, though, conditionally upon its return the moment i jump out of the pool and tread back to the house.