Additional Credits:
After dark, the sleeping arise.
Scout’s honor, we believed it
and nightly snuck out
from lights-out cabins
to search the sleepless:
fireflies, S.O.S.-ing petitions
to the dark, deaf sky;
racoons, drunk with delinquency;
but most of all the resurrected
tree toads, jumping beans among leaves
or leap-froggers across trails
we swore wound to eternity.
In our unprotected palms,
we scooped up each small
Prince of Warts,
as if to kiss him,
as if, for a second
in the chirping
chorus of night,
we clasped a miracle.
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