1.11.2014 Saturday

this poem
is to say goodnight
as you are carried
through the wall of sleep
to where the owl
zips himself 
into his tuxedo of sculptured air
the coyote unpacks
her symphony of  
bent flutes 
and the pirate moon
fits its horn
to dredge the treetops. 

here, too, you ready yourself:
naked as an apple
prepare, perhaps
by keying
a secret sequence of stars;
by launching a kiss
in a paper boat;
or by whispering, now
before it is too late
one thing  
more than your breath
or survival
that gives you the right
to say "I  was alive."