Daylight Journal
with twilight looking in,
a crush of stars waiting
behind a full moon.
I saw it rising yesterday
as I was coming home,
a web of naked maples
making lines upon its face.
Heavy it was and yellow,
birthed of the cold Cascades,
framed by the quiet street
so black beneath my feet,
lined with dark-eyed houses,
brittle shades, and eaves.
Such ripe fruit overhead:
it fit inside my hand,
my palm held up to see,
light showing through
my veins and fingers:
first rose, then velvet,
like so many other dreams.
December 17, 2005
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