Nights
I carry a lifetime’s worth of nights in my throat.
But only one at a time will fit into the coin pocket of my jeans.
The crows keep stealing my dreams.
They pawn the grubby rags
for a couple of cents a pound.
When the burrowing owls
pull down the moon and fling it at my heart,
they intend to maim but miss
and spill marmalade moon shine
on the floor.
I cannot stop to wait for you to breathe.
I cannot stop pointing out
the disappearing stars.
(From Loose Change — Ghost City Press, 2023)
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