The way the wisteria crawl the canopy 

And drape down limp, a stretched-out coil

It strikes me as a father’s hand

(I feel as if I’ve been here once)

❧

If the moon snuffs out 

And smoke ribbons down 

(The more I stare, the more it unsheathes)

I’ll look toward the other door

But branch-hung down, the chrysalis silk

Held fruits that swell to fighter fists

Flicker like lighters

Burst like empty ones 

They call it the forest’s chandelier

❧

My breath snags on a branch as my eyes make you out

By the river’s drunken edge

The lamplight eyes

(Are they reflecting light?)

Of foxen gaggling in the brush

It strikes me twice,

harder than before

We met as North and Swallow

Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash