Good night, terrible day

Instead of dwelling, I am reading James Schuyler Other Flowers which is all

and who are you, which
Maple are you I mean, the one who curves its
leaves like hands,
disclosing pink palms...?

and

Look, I can't go on
standing on one foot
waiting for a moon
to rise. Goodnight, moon.

Which is better than dwelling on the heartswell of desire that flooded the banks of my brains as I nearly walked into you, the tears in my eyes as I passed our watering hole, shook in my shoes on the walk home, partly in the present hot sun & rush hour traffic, partly in the memories of cool 2 am your hand hot on my neck & legs. Goodnight, Lord, goodnight my kitten, my pup, my dear, my laugh, my lust, my last gin & tonic, my only madness.