I pull the covers into place,
find the shapes of pillows
dimly traced in the darkness of the room
and set them into their spaces on the bed.
I feel with one foot for the first tread,
grip the rail and head downstairs.
At the landing,
I look out the window
and see the clear shape of shadows
marking house and trees
in the nearness of the north yard,
deck boards stretched
beyond the casting of the maple.
It is hard not to marvel
at such things as this:
a half-moon full bright
and the light of stars
marking the heavens
above the passing cars and trucks
out on Highway 36.
A few scattered clouds
stretch thinly between earth and sky,
their patterns set in white
between the passing of night and day.
I would like to pull up a chair,
sip a cup of coffee and stare at this
for a few hours,
but the voices of devotion and duty
are calling me to less simple pleasures.