Tag Archives: nocturnes

Nocturnes (vi)

trees

Nocturnes (vi)

The sound of crows chased my dreams
Away this morning as effortlessly

As they drove the quiet vulture from
The black walnut tree behind the house

My family lives in. I won’t call anything mine,
Not even you. Not even the crows who spin out

And then return, black boomerangs.
They leave so they can come back.

The breeze picks up and forgets. Anything
outside, like wind chimes in the dark,

could be the voice of the vulture’s dream.
Two pine trees, like brothers who won’t talk.

Nocturnes (v)

chimneymoon

Nocturnes (v)

Out in the sky, no one sleeps.
–Lorca

The door opened to the boundaries of the hand.
The lines of tigers swam across your palm.

The lover’s collarbone is a galaxy of questions,
A swerve of star-white desire the planes of history

Fly beneath, orienting themselves to darting fish
Shivering in Star River. Out past the sleepless

Boundaries, tigers take new territory.

Nocturne

Nocturne

Our fingers weave silence like the hands on a piano
before they touch the keys. The music held complete, waiting.

Over what instrument do we hover? Whose song?
It sprouts like corn in a field. The summer sound of growth.

On the edge of the song I find an old tree

And a treehouse. Lights twinkle inside.
I am building a stone wall at the trunk, New England style,

Piling loose slab upon slab, spending hours on the balance
Of space and solid. Grave and strong. It will never fall!

You walk out of the song and step over it.