This dark is beautiful
and powerless
against the moon,
against the sky’s glitter
speckled glory.

A bat flutters by
searching for bugs.
Like me, she is
unafraid of night.

She, too, is a creature
made by the maker
of darkness, maker
of moons. We celebrate,

she and I, celebrate
our night joy, bug flying
freedom. She
in her air. I on my
ground here
near the clothesline.