CREEPING BY DAYLIGHT

I think that woman gets out in the daytime!

And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her!

I can see her out of every one of my windows!

It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.

I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden.

I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.

I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!

Furtive, uncanny. Blackened blackberry bleeds onto bruised green leaves, crushed grass, and wet earth while tendrils of honeysuckle clutch and grasp at noontime shadows.