In the stressed syllable of the last month
sometimes I wake in the middle of the night
in the unstressed syllable of the third hour
and feel my heart moving around inside me
as if it is trying to escape when I am
not looking but where would it go?
It’s too early for the scrabble of starling
in the gutter above the open window
The cold air comes in, musical notes
the size of pillows. Like I haven’t
figured out how to dream yet
a window trying to be a wall
What magic changed glass into night?
Then today as the moon rose just after
sunset I found myself in a clearing
mind, thoughts scattered into the thicket beyond.
My heart circles slowly at the edge of the light.
I trust the trees like it trusts the trees.
Like a large cat it shrugs its shoulders
as it walks, like it’s forgetting to take
responsibility for anything like with each step
it’s a step further from what it’s done
Its fur glows at the edge of the circle of light
maybe waiting for me to turn my head
or for another like it to show up at the edge
then from the outside it will come for me