I never believed in bioluminescence before. 
Here in Moravia where all daylight hides 
the only illumination is whiskey. 
Names seem unimportant. 
Large are the memories growing elsewhere 
beneath themselves. 
Do hemlocks burn when stared at? 
Darkness always retains something shapely. 
Those leaves engender me. 
Bedding down in pine-covered nighttime 
I disappeared. Owls are silent. 
Bears rest. In Moravian mythology 
even I sleep well.