In the evening a green lacewing
perched on the edge of my book,
its shadow a feathery stain across the page.
Trapping it in the cave of my hand,
I walked through the house
turning off the lights one by one
until it was dark and mostly silent.
Now on the porch I opened my hand
and the lacewing disappeared,
revealing the headland beyond
glowing like an emerald in the night.
[This poem originally appeared in the artist book Twenty Views of Cascade Head (Crab Quill Press, 2001).]