June 11

comments 4

// Berceuse //

The small dog got
her hackles up

before the owl
lit on the roof

a small soft sound
like a slide of dirt

outside in the open
stretch of night

its compatriot
hoo-ed and we

argued over stars
this is arcturus

or is it mars?
I was wrong;

dry air, water in my eyes,
the largesse  of sky

cradled in these
dry grass hills–

the town, the hour,
everything stilled,

even the tumult
of an anxious heart

beneath a split moon
hung over the Okanogan


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