harvest moon

 

the night is electric-
tinted

             when the phone rings

murmuring


if we are given a small
insistence

               of tomorrow

if we accept


                     we spoke often
                     but

                     you never mentioned
                     underneath
                                     your skin
                            you grew your wings

                     pinioned
                     reading the signs


you speak a secret language
the leaves rustle
mysteriously
                 in the dark -
                                         fall
by the wayside

         muffled carpet
of night

insubstantial as thoughts


and the world spins slower
in the
                  wake
of your heart
beat