Moonlight, Brian Koester

Dale Champlin, Bird Paperdoll 18, Collage, 2021




The long grass consumes
Mom’s ashes—

her ashes listen
to blood seep

from the bite she left
on my throat

and her smile floats
on the breeze.

Hardly anyone knows
there is a hell

on earth deeper
than any earth—

blood gets in your eyes—
The August night is alive

with bugs buzzing and trilling
and their glitter teases a forgotten

strand from the tangle
of my guts—

moonlight and the curve
of a swan’s neck

that bring me back—
someday all the way.

Brian Koester



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