Resting in the cool of dusk

Resting in the cool of dusk 

under the porch 

in the swing by the pool --

nothing quiet,

everything a riot of crick

and creak and whine.

Who knew such tiny things

could moan and click

so loud? The lowing cow,

the cawing crow,

that hootie hoo hoo 

in the woods 

over and over 

until dusk itself 

hovers then grows wings,

whose soft brush in flight

fills with hush 

the night.