Flower Moon

Blackbird, silent.
Owl, orange

The trees, still
as stars.

Hidden squirrels
curl in branches,
waiting in the
cool touch
of night.

I, human,
feel animal

as I cross-leg
on rough dirt
and leaves,
the ground
colder than
where night
meets my cheek.

My bones echo
the bones buried
in Earth’s
dark embrace.

I left many
the biggest,
to be here

A screech warns
the shadow
of myself,

a blackbird song,
a glow to the East,
a lifting curve
of rose.

We all hold our breaths,
blackbird, owl,
squirrel and I.

She lifts higher,
until she is a
loving circle
of rose.

My hands
my shadows

I for a moment
am something other
than human.

This is inspired by the supermoon, 7 May. The May moon is sometimes called the Flower Moon.


2 thoughts on “Flower Moon

  1. Ah yes… Did the blackbird start singing again to the Rose Moon? (I’ve heard robins pretending to be nightingales, their cousins, of a dark evening.) Glad your shadow hid behind you, letting the Moon fragrance your fingers.

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