"It is the good darkness Of women's hands that touch loaves." ~ James Wright

Night falls early now. By six, the moon is out, and thoughts of you rise from the grass like moths to begin their night work. I would like to embrace them in your stead, distant one.

How bright is their rustling on the mind's window! But I don't have your hands to touch the good darkness under their wings, even as my famished body hungers for yours, summer's sacramental loaf.