WHEN THE NIGHT COMES IN

                                                 after Luis Rosales

When the night comes in, hundreds of refugees

climb quietly

                 into boats.

                                        The moon

                                        and the coyote fall in love.

                                        When the night comes in,

the coat,

              in the corner of the room,

unloads  its cold burdens.

When the night comes in, the morning glories worry about debt.

                          When the night comes in,  those who are exiled

dream of finding their houses

in the land of their birth.

They cry, in their dreams,

                            if they cannot find it.

When the night comes in,  the nightingale  softens             

                             the walk of madmen.

                             When the night comes in,

swimmers are more careful                 in the waves of doubt.

When the night comes in,

                           stars hover

                          over the homes of the lonely,

 the cartographer falls asleep

on the mountainous land of sadness,

                                                                   the bullfighter hides his dark thoughts

                                                                   in a red handkerchief. When the night comes in,

refugees

quickly unwind the rope from the dock.

                                      Suddenly              

                                                     the wolf’s howl is a type of prayer. 

Eva Skrande writes: “My book, Bone Argot is forthcoming from Spuyten Duyvil. I am also the author of My Mother’s Cuba (River City Poetry Series) and a chapbook, The Gates of the Somnambulist (Jeanne Duval Editions). My poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Clockwise Cat, Agni, Prick of the Spindle, among others.”