The Night

The night expresses itself as hours
arranged in frets--
they become the turquoise rings she wears,
one on every finger.

In the sound hole, the stars
exist as a kind of resonant wool--
deep blue wrapped around silver tones
she rings as you dream, listening.

Always, she was drawn to the curled leaf, the home branch, the lantern.
(Always, even as a girl.)
Wives go deaf remembering the curl of her tongue,
though their men go on talking, talking, talking beside them.

Hers is the path through the blackberry vines,
a mote against the pitch,
rising.
_____

for this.