Retreat, to the dark

The backbone of a cottonwood on the clouds, a fossil
through my window —
The nail of the moon, cupping the weight of the sky,
low-lidded demon, jeweled crown.

Hands sticking out of trees,
green hands and fingers,
quiet hillsides return to the redoubt of the dark.

The dog curls in upon herself and I too
have collapsed into a ball, to hold what heat
I have and keep myself warm with my own breath

The body shakes, that’s all it knows to do,
to make it through.

About pinklightsabre

I'm an American writer taking a mid-career sabbatical with my wife and two kids, living with my mom in southern Germany, trying to figure it all out and writing memoir, poetry, travelogue -- wintering in the UK and returning to the Pacific Northwest spring of '16. Please join us in our adventure, and thanks for visiting.
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6 Responses to Retreat, to the dark

  1. ksbeth says:

    oh, i so understand and beautifully written.


  2. Laura Lynn says:

    Very nice mood evoked. Love it.


  3. Beautiful piece. Nice to find you!
    – Christy


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