Just a shadow. Hardly that. But audible.
Coming out of the woods, whispering
Happily Ever After.
Even in that light—
stars with the skeletons of animals
and old friends—
to the eye behind the one always
left open on the east side of the house,
downhill. Where the coffee trees
and hemp and the graves of old dogs lie,
buried themselves in leaves and left
to the sputtering wind of memory.
& if that’s not enough (he says
to himself in the voice of a black-and-white
actor whose name is a moth that keeps
avoiding the tip of his flaming tongue)
to bring you home, well, there
it is again,
by your efforts to make it
enough to stay. Impatient,
back down into the woods, whispering
Once Upon A Time . . .