Last Walk of the Night

The frogs are echoing from God
Knows where; the new moon is
Here to be missed, and it has rained.
The sky is blank overhead.

It's a navy blue hour,
Lit more by the apartments'
Lamps than anything above
Us and the twinkling blades of grass.

The glittering water is almost asleep,
Softly shifting; planes above
Hum toward TPA,
The city a milky way below.

We stroll the pre-dewed lawns,
One last visit for the night.
On the grass not far from the path 
Are groups of little dark spots.

Each one of those tiny shadows
Is a precious friend nestling
Back their sleeping, carbuncled faces, 
Resting the white curves of their eyelids.