Nights Near El Yunque

Those nights were mosquito nets --
mat and bed,
the netting draped around,
pooling out a thin veil of white.
I'd lie awake and listen
to the pipe twitter of Coqui,
the gossip of leaves
the murmur of Sugar Cane.
Then sleep in the clear
nights of the whole moon
(when the earth steps aside)
or the dim nights
of the part moon
(when the earth intrudes);
Cradeled by all the world: hill,
treee, man, beast.
Part way through I'd wake
to the soft pelting
of rain feeding the ground.
In that damp air thick dark
I'd consider my parents
curled tight in their high bed
brother an arms length away
sister sheet covered in the abrupt hall.
And sleep again
in the rain, in the wind, in the night.

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