During the full moon,
my birds flock to your chest
and turn into the moon's silken young—
they alight, and slide down to where
you've furrowed and tended the earth
between us and we discover
glistening stars in the tilled darkness.
2/1985 these small poems are hard to date, as I tended to fiddle with them as I was honing my sullied craft. This calligraphed ditty is an earlier draft, probably written in a CPITS workshop
2/1985 these small poems are hard to date, as I tended to fiddle with them as I was honing my sullied craft. This calligraphed ditty is an earlier draft, probably written in a CPITS workshop
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