Veil Of Night

What golden hand

ignites the stars

and mutes the call of the chicadee;

who draws the trees —

those strong dark strokes

that corrugate the forest;

who lays the fuse across the horizon,

then slowly drops the sun into the sea

to spark the flame that beckons

evening into dusk and then to dark?

What angels toil again at dawn,

rolling back the violet curtain of mist

to reveal again a single daisy in a field,

and the humble bee who dances in the wings

waiting to slurp the dew from each bright petal