Night in bed,
eyes closed, ears open,
listening to the secret life outside my window.
The liturgy of the nocturnal.
Sounds and rhythms of
swift-footed crickets
giving testimony to the trees that overlook
the native church like great archways
carved of Roman hands.
The intricate language of tiny animals
sweeping through the night air
unfaltering they hold me spellbound.
How can I sleep without an interpreter?
If only I knew what they were saying.
I could sleep again.