Selva Oscura

The sun is terrible;

summer nights are no help.

You must wait for cold weather.

There must be an anger

to slap you awake,

to make you move.

The street is quiet

except for the sound

of someone walking.

You turn a corner

and unexpectedly collide

with a stranger.

A memory, a friend,

a woman, a house,

a drink of wine.

At first she sees nothing;

you are in shadow.

Then she looks more closely.