Dale Champlin, Bird Paperdoll 18, Collage, 2021
Moonlight
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