Sleepless, I Wander Out
Sleepless I wander out into the moon’s hallway,
a silver corridor with many doors, all shut, all quiet.
Behind one of them, perhaps, you too are pacing
in a small chamber, trailing the smoke of a dream
behind you. In each of your footsteps starlight
pools on the carpet, its design and patterns
curling like vines around your ankles, their tendrils
kissing your ankles, trying to hold you –
I could tell them that you are a green horse, wilder
than any horse that has ever lived, that no one,
not even I, could catch, or keep.
The Bowl Of The Moon Is Empty
The bowl of the moon is empty
as the hollow of a tree in autumn
after the woodpeckers who nested there
have fledged and flown. The stars
are small pinholes in dark paper,
the nothing that shines through
is so bright. My feet are wet
from walking in the meadow,
the hem of my nightgown
soaked with dew. The moon
is an empty bowl. I remember
lying down inside her curve with you,
I remember us falling and burning out
Our Faces Have Disappeared
Our faces have disappeared into the fading river.
There was no witness to the kisses we scattered
for the ducks, while darkness shook out her blue tablecloth.
Once from my cabin door I watched the aurora,
incendiary dresses sparking through the pines.
Another time the moon dropped dust in my emptiest pockets,
and I spent it on weapons and scars.
Why couldn’t I find you?
Who held you? What secrets?
How is it that love pours down like rain
when I am full of sorrow and you are busy vanishing?
The book I read in your absence has erased its pages,
and my sheets are pitifully dragging their broken wings.
You are always falling away at evening
towards that place where the dark goes
unweaving our cities.
— by B.J. Buckley
Copyright© 2022, by B.J. Buckley. All Rights Reserved.
B. J. Buckley is a Montana poet and writer who has worked in Arts-in-Schools/Communities programs throughout the West and Mudwest for more than four decades. She has recent/forthcoming work in Vita Poetica, Dogwood, and the Patterson Literary Review. Her chapbook, In January, the Geese, winner of Comstock Poetry Review’s 35th Anniversary competition, will be published in April 2022.