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               “Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime.”

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JUNE

by Linda Pastan

The June bug

on the screen door

whirs like a small,

ugly machine,

and a chorus of frogs

and crickets drones like Musak

at all the windows.

What we don’t quite see

comforts us.

Blink of lightning, grumble

of thunder—just the heat

clearing its throat. 

     In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a      kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.

— Marcel Proust