Unencumbered beasts
in the night like scattered moonlight
windswept clouds cast across
masses tumbling to the ground
skinning the earth—fresh snow—back
dark dirt across scars of white satin.
sounds like cloth
trumpeting the breeze
meant to dry
our cheeks
smell like sun
light touch here
away and back
away again.
are miracles like how
love doesn’t live in bodies
love lives in stories
in myths passed down mouth to mouth
to resuscitate the bitter
tongues back to life
away and back again.
are miracles like viscera
is bone on bone unfurling
marrow yawning
open with buds from last April
showers upon showers
to name abundance
as running in the opposite
direction of ruin.
are deer dawn fairy tales
lilting arcs into clover
fields of ears flowering
for sounds to
fall into
only light inimitable
cascading away
and bounding back again.
(Blue Heron Review, Issue #19, 2025)
