Poem with Blue Light

In a story, the farmer arrives 
at the threshold. Day after day 
something has gone 
missing: a hen, its straw 
pallet of eggs. Ripped grain sacks 
with their tell-tale trail of pearled 
white.  Cacophony of feathers. 
What would you do if you believed 
in this kind of spirit language?
Where did the bird in your dream go,
and who has spilled flour and sugar
on your kitchen counter, burned
the filament of the new light-
bulb? The sunflower in the vase
drops two petals. Inside the house,
it has grown lonely again; 
when the clock chimes the hours 
backwards, you wonder how 
you got here. But sometimes, 
the moon is a tenderness 
that comes through the blinds

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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