Night walked in masked
like a fat raccoon
knowing the neighborhood
self-satisfied, owning
back trails through the canyon
where the deer can’t climb.
This was no thief but an owner
of half the world where
footfalls are very quiet.
But he was hungry
slow, silver-grey searching,
a child of the rising
moon.
like a fat raccoon
knowing the neighborhood
self-satisfied, owning
back trails through the canyon
where the deer can’t climb.
This was no thief but an owner
of half the world where
footfalls are very quiet.
But he was hungry
slow, silver-grey searching,
a child of the rising
moon.
This is very beautiful - night as a masked raccoon. I love the image - "silver-grey, searching, a child of the rising moon." So lyrical, Lorna.
ReplyDeleteLovely, especially those concluding lines.
ReplyDeleteLorna, I love the story-telling everyday-ness of it. And the sneaky beautiful poem it makes.
ReplyDelete