8/31/2009
We sleep.
Pale moths fondle
late summer window screens, paper
bark birch owl ignites
our bedroom with amber eye-gleam, bats
drop -- black leaves
from the tree of night, stranded
in her dark house, our neighbor
sips whiskey to feel warm
again.
We sleep.
Poems
are forever
awake.
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Pale moths fondle
late summer window screens, paper
bark birch owl ignites
our bedroom with amber eye-gleam, bats
drop -- black leaves
from the tree of night, stranded
in her dark house, our neighbor
sips whiskey to feel warm
again.
We sleep.
Poems
are forever
awake.
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