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

is allowed.

Indifference deafens.

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).