act 1, scene 1.

In the distance
the moon dances to the hum of the wind
and each tree becomes
a silhouetted soldier
outfitted in black fatigues —
the swat team of the night.

And this well-coordinated effort
never cancels its tour.
The playbill is there for the taking as
it dazzles the horizon today
and tomorrow
and forever, really.
But I —
I seldom
take time
to
notice.

Only tonight, I unwrap this gift,
this one-act play,
and as I sit and watch,
a captive audience, I remain
until the moon is suspended high in the heavens
and the sky is the color of tar —
dark enough to erase the steady soldiers from sight
until dawn
when they reappear
to greet the day with a sleepy-eyed encore.