The night air hangs warm on the city
the trees are quiet
not wanting to provoke the season
into remembering it is supposed to be cold
this time of year.
I open our windows
not so much to let the fresh air in
as letting our air out
so many months these rooms have held their breath
thick with the busy everydayness of our lives.
I should sleep
but instead I sit
my face nearly out the window
like a dog
letting the outside pour over me.
The fire dancers toss their flames in the park
like dinosaur fireflies
pirouettes of light
they cannot see me way up here
or hear me
but I clap when they are done.
The air smells like apples
and it makes me ache a bit
for the relentless ebb of time
for the moon
so steady up there
watching patiently
as we rise and fall.