Haiku on the stoop

Evening on the stoop--

moths drawn to light, humans drawn

to the August sky.

Stars shine silently--

violence is beautiful

with enough distance.

A bottle falls, breaks,

as I squelch a shout, mindful

of neighbors' windows.

A meteor's brief

flash—the deepest wishes cross

our minds so quickly.

Meteors become

wishes—proof that humans' hopes

cling to anything.

A sheltered cat's cry,

doubting the clockwork of food

in her silver bowl.

Sounds reach farther in

the night—my mind, also, as

day quiets and dims.