| Solace
on the Solstice
The crow is dragging a homespun feather
looking for someone
in the parking lot
how can she be gone
how can she be going
how can anyone
into the salmon-colored sky of trees
shaking above the hills
so quiet here I married myself
If I watch birds long enough I may crack
the code of relationship
to print her name in hollow bones
The crow waits under the moon
the half-moon on the water homeless
for the bay
rain is not alone
the river in the loft
runs beside my bed
She was everyone that discontinued
halfway through the natural year (it sucks)
and now the consolation of light
will dovetail from brutal to mournful
which is familiar with me
the cramp's last breath
Every poem looks for its rightful
sacrament to melt away
the last remaining doubt—
this one scares me because it won't |