Status Updates From Twelve Moons

“While the air outside turns quietly / A grainy luminous blue. / You wish it would never change — / But of course the darkness keeps / Its appointment. Each evening, / An inscrutable presence, it has the final word / Outside every door.”

“The litter under the tree / Where the owls eats — shrapnel / Of rat bones, gull debris — / Sinks into wet leaves / Where time stirs with her slow spoon.”

“she fled in that lick of flame all tedious bonds;/…the death in the metronome.”