The lost echo
on a moonless night,
the slim silhouettes of trees,
enough to hide the animals.

Animals that look like you and me
in their wandering.
Tentative steps along a path
in the woods.
Unaware of their age or home.
They are just here,
moving from place to place,
finding warmth at the base of a tree in May,
winds coming in from the west.

Noises overhead
and underground.
Waking to a darkness
that becomes light
one way or another.

The stars floating down
into your hands and then gone,
most times, you don’t even know.