Now a woman walks.
Her legs move through the dark
like twin canoes
riding ocean waves.
Now a lamp hums.
Around a globe
a microcosm of the daylit world
clusters: woman, man,
and a team of insects
that beat against the globe
like children’s feet against a soccer ball.
Rainbow-colored insects,
night is a blue wood
peppered by your wings
numerous as salt grains
in the ocean water.

The corral is empty now.
Blue-gray wood, weathered and worn,
corrals the grass.
Only a buffalo
gourd flower
lies tethered here—
her enormous white trumpet