Beginning with two lines by Christian Wiman

Barefoot careless in the farthest parts of the yard
children become their cries
 of surprise and pleasure as they run
and twirl in cooling air.
The winged flickering lights they chase
cast scant light on their faces.
Dew begins to wet the lawn; the children
sprawl on ground smelling of clover.
They revel in the gifts of night: cricket song,
starlight, the whispered secrets
of sisters, brothers and cousins.
Dusk envelops them like a mother’s arms.


© by Wilda Morris.
Used with the author’s permission.