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