When the grass doesn’t bend, and the earth
Holds her breath, and the stars are drowned
By a pregnant moon at midnight, so I walk,
Down the empty road, a monk in my shawl
And bare feet, chin tucked towards the cup
Beneath my throat, my clavicle carrying the
Unuttered dreams of my youth, but my feet,
Walk the road, sailing me through the dark,
My hull slowly being pulled by the tide and
Currents of time, I walk, seeking absently a
Shore to lay my body down, and finally rest.

But, the grass does not bend; the earth holds
Her breath.

First published on Poet’s Corner July 7, 2016