Dark falls slowly
drifting through the fading sun.
Night falls full of stars
as the curtain lifts on the universe’s display
and crickets chirrup.
Dusk deepens into dark
grass greys silver-templed.
There is no silent night beneath these stars
when the wind blows
and leaves sigh
and the crickets throb and thrib
and every fragment of sound
ever created in a birdthroat
is trilled and thrilled tirelessly
by the small brown
insignificant scrap of nightingale
that sets the dark to music.