MARCH 3, 2026

Sickle moon
and solid river;
where sleeping trees now throb with cold,
where fish still breathe
beneath rooted water,
waiting.

Here,
where your sleeping house now settles
in a blush of lamplight.
Here,
where I once laid, years ago
in August,
shoulders speckled burnt sienna;
wet kindling beneath your eager mouth,
a thick hickory

waiting 
to ignify,

to form slowly into fire
and burn.

~