It’s an August evening in the garden
/ and I’m reading about nyctinasty,
/ why some flowers close their petals
/ for the night, when the lantern I nailed
/ in place this afternoon starts to
tremble
/ / in an irreverent breeze, and I remember
/ years ago, waiting for the bus to
school,
/ when a rusty nail jutting out
/ of a discarded plank, caught my eye.
/ I don’t know what impelled me then
/ / to stab my foot on it, hard as I could.