by Kyla Houbolt
When nightrain comes the water creatures play. They are not the song of garbage can lids nor will they dance in the lights of cars. They find hidden alleys, lost yards. Abandonment pleases them. They sing in secret, praise and preen long gray bodies, dance for the sweet mud, wonder what lives behind dark windows, swear up hard oaths of thunder, own it all. ____ Kyla Houbolt lives in Catawba territory, so-called Gastonia, NC. She published two chapbooks in 2020: Dawn's Fool in March, and Tuned in November. Links to acquire those are on her website, https://www.kylahoubolt.com/, as are links to digitally published individual pieces. When she isn't making poems she's making gardens.