A full moon about the size of
my palm so bright
I put it in the linen closet
and for three days
a month the doors turn
translucent I can’t sleep
A prancing painted horse with
a lame leg I wind it up
and watch it crash in circles
A curved dagger with sticky tree
resin where the handle should be gilded
I unsheathe it bladeless
One August night I wake up
to a lit candle finally in bloom
flame too close to the garden
shed
A morning of utter silence
not even the thrushes
speak today I harvest
the silence like truffles on muddied
knees beneath the apricot
