“Where did the night go?” You ask.

“It’s under your shoe.” I suggest. You lift the sole, the white rubber giggles brightly through the marbled mud and April dew.

“Nope, not under there!”

The sun has come to help us look for it. He’s put his shoes on and his fluffy coat, his hand to his brow as he scours to the West. “I think I see it!” he murmurs gently, to the starling’s cheer. On the peeling green bench, we sit, you take my hand, and we watch our friend chase his into tomorrow.