Everyday

The still night air hangs heavy all around.

Wet cotton clouds lie limp across the moon --

unmoving, drooping, heavy.  Not a sound

to break the ancient spell of night.  Then soon

the cool, pale dawn will come, arrayed in dress

of freshest misty green, to dance in tune

with songs too low to hear.  Then the caress

of morning sweetens earth.  Heat comes with noon.

Again the air weighs heavy, thick as clay.

The afternoon brings no relief from stark

reality of heat.  To end the day

at last will come the dusk, preluding dark.

The moon will come as it has always done.

From force of habit, moon will follow sun.

                                - Lamar Review, 1964