Tuesday, October 19, 2021

she comes

She comes riding on a raven.

She comes calling like a crow.

The vision in the dishes

soaking in a sink. Steaming

water running out the faucet,

the window half mirror

like dawn or dusk. Her face

bright in the basin of this

unhitched mind, habit taking

off the harness grazing 

through the hills of hazy

memory and half forgotten dream,

eyes too bright and sharp

to leave a sight uncut, 

this new moon whisper

as the moon fills fecund. 

She comes on wings occluded,

she comes on words

spat across the shadows, 

there and gone between the breaths.

at

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