There is a
midnight tree
that stands
in the shadow
of the moon.
The nightingale
soothes its
dark leaves
with honey
jasmine
weaves up
its trunk
– a white
garland
bats lit
on black branches
whirring wings
like hummingbirds
like ornaments
the moon
stands still
pouring
over
it all.
Those with
their hearts
in the day
are too bright
to see it
you have to
walk in shadows
to smell
the honeyed
jasmine
to hear
the
moonlit
nightingale.
