Untitled, by Jeffrey P. Hergan

The light of the moon on a crystal night
Its sultry lick, of eyes, of skin
And the weirdish beams lighting river ripplets
And wrapping around weed flowers and the undersides of branches
Of trees that sleep and yawn in the sunlight
And muddy puddles ascurry with bugs
And amphibian symphonies 
Interrupted by the crunch of dead leaves underfoot 
While nothing, nothing at all, is voiced
But 'Yes.'