10/23/2019

​in this November
dark, anything could
be happening outside
a murder, a council
of bears, ghosts skating
on their bones over
the pond. now and then
the moon tips her silver
crown or goes dark, her
cipher tongue
inking the influence
that we feel but do
not see. shut-windowed
and warm, there is
nothing to fear here but
old age and shame, both things
we should have outgrown.
I do not know what
I will face tomorrow--
our world is backward
to nature; the night
has grown quiet and unselfish;
the day has become devastating
as paper. what will
take us will come
unexpectedly as an
attorney invading lunch.
please forgive
me for siding with
the dark and for running
my fingers down the
thigh of sleep; there is too
much I prefer not to wake
up to.