Weathers

— Diane Lee Moomey

I

Another night wind, wet wind, bears
the breaths of owl and cougar, flings
pine limbs down, these crash
to wet ground, wet hunters
stalk prey,
wet prey,
can’t wait,
dark wet feet. Water howls down
spouts; clay bowls, ivy bowls
smash flat onto bricks. Out there,
dark there, one shriek — something small.
I wrap myself in woolen shawl.

II

A midday sun: all color gone
from cliffs, from sky, from shadows, empty
doorways— the village
sleeps. Waves of far-off hills break blue
on gray horizons. Tawny stone lifts
sheer above this valley floor, its glassy
facets flashing yellow, white.
A raven circles low above
the melting road. I wish
I had another sweater to take off.

 

One thought on “Weathers

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s