Willie Smith

Night Piece

The cricket sings the dark 
the dark to sing away. 
To his own gut feeling 
the frog responds. 
The whippoorwill skims the pond, 
intercepting in the dark 
moth, beetle, firefly; 
calls his name the moment he forgets 
he has no name, calls his name 
the moment he forgets 
the moment he forgets calls. 
The owl intuits the soul of chance. 
The mouse, in owl claws, 
with no further complaint 
than a phrase of squeaks, 
leaves this plane for perhaps a better 
place; but the frog, the cricket, 
the whippoorwill on it do not bet.   

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