somehow I-I'm always under a

black bough that swells so wide

and thick, the night comes up

with it.

where branches fall into its chasmic

girth, waxen with sea changes that

put their skin to paper.

a touch too haunted not to be broken

through.

the hole in the sky the moon leaves...

even if she should stay just out of view.

she fills that hole with the deepest beds

of rest, beaming back at her.

it's when her song comes on real quiet...

the inexhaustive replay of her attentive

being captures something new.