Take me to the black woods mumma

and make believe we’ll boogy in the dark.”


In the late summer of anxiety

in the blink of a damaged left eye

a poem appears to have written itself

on a blank page

by moonlight.

A woman is crouched over the page,

her heavy rocking presence

sealing her into 

the space where all is clear.

The squared lines are still just visible

as down the channels of the world

the waves roll in.

Somewhere beyond all windows

it is over.