THE NIGHT MARES
In a still night
No moon softening
No cloud drapery.
Against this midnight
The night mares move
Sharing colour with the darkness.
What cannot find them is found by them,
There are no ways secret:
Spiraling stars leave every sky familiar,
Foraging herds by trails of green weeds
Breach every underwater sanctuary.
The night mares
Sleep standing up;
Contain any stallion,
Give birth in the middle of any weather,
Can knock bones, eyes, or internal organs out of any creature.
Simply by their passing
Men have been sucked breathless.
The night mares
Know where dragons come from,
And who, mothered by seas and singing desert sands,
The twin birthed are.
In languages that the thunder knows,
They answer one another.
Navigating easily unbridled,
No boundary deludes them.
Yielding, the only response they know.
this first appeared in print in Searches For Magic Lapwing Press Belfast
How Long My Unfitting Skin, The Night
she had come down from Gunnison
it had been a hard ride
thin air refusing to support her
old shoes needing to be thrown away as soon as possible
met for drinks at The Last Chance
she told me brief stories
life in the wilderness
ways of ghosts and proud flesh
we booked a room from the man who wore a star
make believe log cabin
steel spring mattress
Jim Beam on the bed side
we smoked silent shapes up at an invisible ceiling in the dark
I was happy to be there
thought she was too
but somewhere after moon light
she had gotten up
kneeling by the drifty window
to whatever she prayed
all i could make out was –
How long my own unfitting skin the night?
thank you clockwise cat!