full moon of my youth
lost in the clouds
leaving every dark thing
its residue of dream
take this small pine
shagged up by itchy antlers
dormant for the winter
it doesn’t know it’s dead yet
alone in the goldenrod
a sparrow startles awake
overhead a bright fissure
opens and closes
from the springhouse
the sound of a slow drip
seeping out of its dark window
high in a whitewashed wall