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, creative nonfiction, travel journals and poetry, and lives in the Pacific Northwest. His writing has been featured as an editor's pick on WordPress -- many posts are works in progress from his first novel, 'The Truth About Alexander Sloane.'
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. Beautiful piece. Nice to find you!
    – Christy


Please share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s