As red as rust, the moon glows,
a stop light, willing the summer to cease.
The soy turns brown in the field down the road.
The night is full of black-eyed deer,
silently waiting for cars to pass,
so they can exist in a plane beyond the spotlight,
beyond the threat of bullets and wheels.
The moon is being swallowed by the earth.
It will emerge on the other side,
changed by the shadow, changed by contact
with a light impure, filtered through the dirt,
the particulates of mass decay.
The deer in the field turn their eyes toward the sky.
Innocence never sees darkness coming.
I'll fall asleep when the sun comes up.
My hands will be sticky and as red as the moon.

10/25/2014

Posted on 10/25/2014
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