All Souls
Harvest moon.
My howling heart—
mouth a mask.
What say you?
The Sun
knows nothing.
Only night—
my voice raised in it
tall as wheat.
The maize
of your breath.
The body
betrays us—
so we run.
Still the moon
bearing babies
above us, waxes
unlike the leaves.
Burn on,
saith the trees.
*
Save yourself.
*
October, almost—
ghost moon.
Haunted heart.
No, I won’t.
The rain slows, shows
the earthworms
they were wrong—
far harder to breathe
here, above earth,
than below,
where the storms
shelter their own.