The moon is yellow and full and low in the sky and the sky no longer drops now, it’s a slow fade to dusk. I walk the lake road and a car comes round the bend and with the swoosh… Read More ›
moon
Just for us
The moon is hanging on by a nail and we are all bound to fall that way too, to rise in the morning and repeat the same cycle: to expand and recede, sometimes close to Earth, sometimes obscured. They make… Read More ›
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… Read More ›
Shadow imprint of a soul: what’s timeless
Souls make snow-angels in the dog bed, where Ginger curls up by the fire. And after she’s gone, the mind still sees after-images of her there and has to check itself, for time: For what time we’re in, now? How it… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 