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Hunter’s Moon


ISSUE:  Autumn 1990
Martin, Tennessee 1989

This little self
this tiny me
and the white moon
eye-hurt between the pines
it is that bright
eerie on the eyelids as a howl
as an angel
and I, that sufferance
is a sweet cry
yelping
thinner than the penned hounds, the train whistle
more like a mouse
that ee no one can hear in the lot
is silver goldenrod in the eye-moon
giant in October
him fodder and fed
the little elder
among the seed hoard and the dead.

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