Finches dart through walnut branches,
         through scissoring light,
specimens perfect, air like glass.

But I'm all eyes and no hands—
things flash and recede.

The sun goes down and evening buffs
          its copper brighter.

Lights snap on at the tops of poles
and insects madden, circling globes.

Bats and swallows veer and feed,
       veer and feed,
as nighthawks dive, their gullets open.

Dark descends to gorge itself on the gorgeous Earth.

Darling, touch me. I'm almost here.