The Moon Wouldn't Let The Sky Be Dark
You were the one whose name I heard
when the wind moved through the valley.
I heard the trees whisper it, but
you weren't listening at the time.
The moon kept pouring more and more
silver into the sleeping lake.
I saw your eyes snap open:
That's when you began to shimmer.
See how the waters wait for your voice's ripple.
See how the still waters shine back the light.
While Alone, Thoughts Escape
The sky is mulling over its thoughts.
She has more teeth than she needs for chewing;
her lips struggle to keep them in;
their yellow bite drains the white
of her eyes and muddies the grey roots
of her hair. Somewhere she has set
her glasses if only she could remember
if only she could focus her mind:
this kind of trouble becomes more familiar;
it would be funny except for the wasted time.
Her thoughts are over the sky, mulling.
She spirals up the logging road,
paintbrush blush on the banks, black
spruce needle the mountain’s back.
Up here trees sift the wind,
raven wing feathers whine in reply;
a creek bubbles over stones,
fists of clouds loosen
then make shadow puppets
on the hill's screen.
See where the mountain gave way,
tumbled in a mess of stones, and how
the moss reclaims it for the trees.
She reclaims her thoughts tumbling
over and under the clouds
like cumulus that darken,
become nimbus,
roll with rumbling,
spark with light, bright
thoughts with darker underbellies,
dark thoughts that crack
their shells and drop their raw suns
into the bowl the hills make.