You come out of the grayness of dusk
as you enter my yard.
I know not if it's you, or just a shadow
on a long, summer, June night.
Suddenly I am aware of all that is black
in a yard that I thought was mine.
A hanging basket of flowers plays
tricks with my eyes,
as I think it's you perched on a fence post.
The candle I read by becomes brighter
with the end of the day's light,
as blood thirsty tiny little mosquitoes
hunt for uncovered skin.
A few early fire flies grace my yard
and distract me from your quiet movement.
I can hardly see now, yet I think I see you
crouched down in the grass, looking at me.
The tree line is still visible and the waxing
gibbous moon will reflect in your green eyes
giving you away, any minute now.