from Eclipse

Leaves fly like light debris
and a loud tarpaulin flaps quickly,
noise on the noise of the wind.

Fat clouds smoke across flat blue-black sky,
and quiet stars are replicas
in a painted ceiling.

I know those pin-prick holes
will be lost when I turn on the light,
but for now I am caught in the thrall of silver,

the vertigo of night sky lit
with hypnotic beams of violet and indigo
in white, whispers of madness and violence –

answerable rhythms that pull at my tides,
call to my hunger for a small heart cake,
a crust of bread.

All because the moon shows one side
of a chimney whiter than expected
as I stand, cold feet on wooden boards.

From Eclipse


image Michael S. Quinton, National Geographic 

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