Thank you to Terveen Gill, Editor of MasticadoresIndia for publishing one of my poems.

Dark, dark the wood through…

Dark, dark the wood through
which owl shadows soar
in and between
the canopy leaf.

Fleecy cover veils
a dour moon,
visage of distaste,
more likely disregard.

We fly in dreams
and change not the world.
Our night chills
do not the tides increase.

Yet, waking we are changed.

What matters
when deer and possum and gators rest;
but our fevered imaginings
prowl the nightmare terrain?

Our thoughts play
at nocturnal hunting.
We come up empty,
bleary-eyed, drowsy
with the blood-red sunrise
out of the roiling waves of slumber.

Our prey each morning slips
through us like spray-laden fog.