Tag Archives: moon

Lightning, like the earth is pulling

koirose

Lightning, like the earth is pulling

Lightning, like the earth is pulling threads from the moon,
Unseen above the clouds. The earth’s desire is so strong

That fish wriggle from the tree by my driveway, and roll
On the sidewalk waiting for rain. The neighbor says they are fallen

Flowers from the rose of sharon, but they more resemble
Shrink-dried koi, ready to plump up as the moon draws

The water inland. Like wishes waiting for the right moment
They will blossom only after their fall and swim down the street

Where everyone can see, unattached to what they grew from,
Swallowing bread dropping through the air from the hands of strangers.

Dandelion Patch by the Elementary School, Early May, 7:50 a.m.

dmoon1

Dandelion Patch by the Elementary School, Early May, 7:50 a.m.

They pluck them from the ground and smash
Them soundlessly on another’s head or back

What floats off their violence like a helicopter’s
Skeleton? Lighter than an elementary school

Morning. Directionless as a flying fifth grader.
Wish wands are what they call them. Why would you break

A wish on a boy’s stubborn neck as he tries to twist
Away? On the shoulder of the girl who’s too fast

For you to catch? They don’t wait for the fractured
Moon to pop free of its stem. When the field grows

Quiet I look up at the great yellow flower. If I wait
Long enough it will turn white and fragile against

The dark. I’ll meet you at the base of its hollow
Column, or wait till the wind dismisses me.

dmoon2

Reading sheet music

arp

Reading sheet music

The guitar arpeggios are the roofs of nearly identical houses
In a small village. The streets are covered in snow, no one

Goes in or out. But the temperature even at night has turned mild,
No smoke rises from the roofs, which are spotted with moonlight.

In the morning a dog runs through the alleys, pausing here and there
To check out something new. Snow slides off a roof in the morning sun.

Rising

Rising

The moon’s not looking
out a window in

the house next door
to the west of bed.

Rising I talk the evening
down from its sorrows:

What begins as one thing
passes into another, I say,

sundown to dusk to night
for instance, night to

faintest light to dawn
to day. Then night says

in a voice so dark I can
not read its words

What begins as love
passes into love

and from the house next door
to the east of my steps

the moon rises
as from its black chimney