The apple murex moon of this
Post-winter night, sewn with unseen stars,
Shines thin and parted beams
Between the cracks torn in the clouds
That slash through the skies like
Rice paper.
The night breezes uproot the
Vast wheat fields into a swaying
Back and sideways ballet.
Knees are bent into pliés
And stomach muscles are
Stretched in high reaching arcs.

The sun-dried wheat fields,
Ready for break-back harvest,
Bend in pliés and
Twirl in sideways spirals.
As straight and determined as a
Willow arrow,
A fire-bellied sparrow
Is lost under the tyrant waves
Of wheat and wind,
Under the slicing orchestra of
Grass-cut air.
She searches for a way out.
She does not realize that the
Sky that was once below is now above.
Both her black drowned eyes see nothing
But the violent movements of coffee colored shards.
Where is the familiar violet glow of the
Apple murex moon?
Where are the thousands of
Seen and unseen stars,
And the rice paper clouds?

The wheat and wind
Seem to curl inward
And trap her,
Away from the world she knew.
Just as her tiny sparrow heart
Began to curl inward into itself,
The air parted the wheat fields,
Freeing her.  

The delicate lungs that
Give the sparrow breath and song
Take in the refreshing air.
She stretches her fire-feathered wings
High and wide
And under the violet light,
The she sparrow
Flies upward
To kiss the apple murex moon.