Appointment

Precisely at 11:20 every night,

something on four legs

visits my garden, and scrunches

down in the leaves under the lemon tree.

What signature is he leaving,

and for whom?

I imagine possum, cat,

the neighbor's rabbit, or

Fred, the dachshund,

who is never leashed.

Not to know

is more of a gift

than knowing. I ignore

the flashlight by my bed

and greet the darkness

with a soft hello.

Let the moon rise

in its own time.

Let mystery be prompt

and without menace.