After dark all becomes tender

There is a coolness that prones beside us and watches our face
And a darkness that opens wide and swallows distractions
Clean - all the blades of grass and the patches of sand -
And we stare at gentle lights and the curves of slow
Sleepy silhouettes stilling before us. Even the loudspeaker
Crackles like pillow-side voice.

The moonlight is only visible in the different 
Shades of dark in the low and wide screens 
Stretching forward and forward - lane 15, 15, 15 -
Like a movie of movie of movie. Oppressive  
Yet a little breathtaking, they look down on us.
Those blue stick perched on safety helmets, lighted
Mating serenades from soft bodies of fireflies, gently 
Look down upon us and speak in wooly-eyed murmurs.

A finger sinks onto a button and the far end lights up
The wrinkles of sand - burying the day’s worth of bullets 
Clutching grudges to the chest - and the screen before us
Becomes a picture. Watch the frame and the way
Those languid silhouettes stride, all helmet and long sleeves 
And a belt of pouches like a superhero squad emerging.
Watch the trail of shadows slink across the back and 
Exit stage left. The dancers move against the glowing backdrop
Of a cratered brown moon, or fossilised display of a craning 
Skeleton in a museum, or a bronze sculpture
Dented along a corridor. They move smoothly and
Soundlessly, as all things become tender after dark.