“You’re the cat’s” – Barney Fife
There is a glorious riot of frogs in the ditches
and the birches tonight are black:
their wet trunks spoked with crooked spindles,
glistening the same as the asphalt.
The streetlights are overflowing orange;
it drips and joins the rivulets and trickles on the road.
A little goes a long way
but not too far.
The secret darkness and the pattering rain
Will you walk with me?
The night’s music is meant to be shared.
Listen. The wind is singing in the trees.
And to hold your hand