Already dusk, the geese, half wild,
fade 
from the lawn. We sit 

near silence, our feet soaked.
Heat hangs onto the night
like fever 

sweat in a blanket, 
and stars 
take place in the waning familiar. 

It’s not that there’s nothing
to say, we just 
know better 

by now. Tongues honed 
on imagined accusation, 
we hum 

instead, feeling blindly 
for the moment 
harmony 

settles into itself, 
our teeth 
flashing through the dark.