i live life on the vines,
in the stillness of earth tilled in rows.
when it rains, i feel it in my toes
as if they too are rooted
summer sunlight fills my soul
as it plumps the grapes
and in harvest, i taste the sweetness
of another year passing.
you say as night settles
for the progress of the day.
as soon as you’re born
all the blood of daily pin pricks pile like so many dried leaves
tossed by a breezy blood orange moon with eyes like a wise old owl.
Finally, you say.
Wipe a finger
across a dusty bookshelf full of old photographs
to feel the only truth
known to owls, and moons.