Again

The night keeps secrets, in the stillness of shadows
In the hush of sleeping birds and spirits.
It has its language, made of stars and space and possibility
Speaking to itself, to the moon, to the earth that underlies the earth.
And she makes her own part in the scene,
Marked by the call of crickets and the crushed grass.
She shapes the darkness, shows it her unbent head,
And holds its poetry in her mind
Her forms and shapes are draped with starlight
As she speaks to the silence
And holds back the sun.
The night cries out a word meant only for itself
A word that is night and song and awakening,
And she listens, and murmurs "Say it again."