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

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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. runningonsober says:

    Beautiful piece. Nice to find you!
    – Christy


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