Sculling faceup in the pool,
the increasing moon climbing
heavily into the sky,

I float under dozens anchored
high in the trees, like a flock
of white doves stilled by sleep,

not a coo from any of them,
guardians observing my slow
laps. Or are they petaled angels,

ones I fail to notice during the day,
silently gleaming, brilliant in pool
light, a heavenly host of helpers

keeping watch by night?