In Some Forests
it is always dark and so night is
a matter of perception.
Dark as when a door is about to close
but does not
and a careful emptiness
Questions can be left behind.
The Zen-eyes of the eagle
care nothing for this moment
as if seeing were a little theft.
Come, come beckons the skipper of the heart.
Who isn’t waiting to be filled?
By any creek shade or mock sun.
By the inky green that is greener in here
scrubbed and newly made.
Every year a tree creates
absolutely from scratch
99% of its living parts.
Oh brittle deadwood. Oh bones.
“In Some Forests” is from How to Live on Bread and Music (Perugia Press, 2009).