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 Coyote and Eagle Know
 
Night.
Night as cave people knew it.
Night of the owl, of the iguana.
Firefly, red fox, hints blatant
or subtle of jasmine.  Moon-
silhouetted sea oat and shell.
Night the Chinook tell us Coyote
and Eagle saw an old woman
swallow the moon.  Rebirth
it onto a  meeting lodge floor,
where it lay admiring moon-
silver ghosts.  Night.   
Night before light-emitting diodes
commenced to glare with blood
and grass eyes.  Night before street-
lights, clubs, and cruisers. Night
flaunting indigo, ebony, onyx.  
Piano key black.  Sleek coal
of a panther feigning sleep
on a too-still branch.  Ermine
black,  black keen to help spoon
cave-raised delicacies into us
and robe us out of sight if we will
but let her. Kneel and sweep us
off our feet.  Force us to dream.  
Face fear so we can put it to rest.  
Never mind if she delights or not
by glittering her hair or decking
in filigreed silver and gold lame
with lace, or knits us striped wool
to stave off a chill or refuses,  
still soothes, still feeds.  Knows
there are times we need to hide.
Dark to balance Light.  Surcease
from the prods of human robots.
Flash, buzz, beep, clang.  Call it
vitamin Night.  N-i-g-h-t,
Night.
 

            c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2008
               All Rights Reserved