4:02 AM yesterday

            I open the  garage door–
            back my  SUV out
            into the open.

            I don’t have a remote
            so I must close the door
            manually.

             I duck to avoid the closure
             and then I put the car in reverse
             backing to turn and go out straight,

             In its first quarter, the moon, bright
             above the two masive oaks,
            with a bumper crop of leaves,

             after this wet summer,    
             its tip pointing down
             gives me pause to think

              that science tells us the gravity
              of that moon rules tides,
              but my father,

              if he were alive,
              would say the moon is 
              spilling water,

              and who am I
              to question
              his wisdom?

                         4:03 AM the next morning

              after trying to post my poem,
              for hours with no
              internet access,

               the world is dark outside.
               I join the darkness
               welcoming the cool breeze.

               Two night birds sing,
                their sounds excited,
                poetry to my ears.

                Behind me,
                in the woods,
                a buck deer snorts.

                I have wondered
                if some hunter took him
                for a trophy,

                and now I know.