Dave Bonta's "Night Shirt" catches a single hot, restless night at the start of summer. The speaker notices small things one after another: two crickets calling almost together, fireflies lifting out of the grass, heat lightning flickering far off. The note that it's both the new moon and the solstice tells us the night will be dark but very short, so there's little time to rest.
The air is the poem's main character. Comparing it to silk and to an unwound cocoon makes the humidity feel soft, clinging, and a little suffocating, like something you're wrapped in. The speaker's question, "will we be cool enough / to sleep?", shows a mix of drowsy appreciation and discomfort. The ending adds a note of tension: a low growl, which sounds like thunder approaching. The mood is quiet, sticky, and watchful, with the beauty of the night tinged by the sense that a storm is about to break.