You sit there
wondering
what it could be.
.
.
.
.
.
Wrinkles in bark,
woods out of season,
brown leaves under
folded legs.
TILTED EARTH IS SLEEPING.
..
. .. .
. .. . .
. .
.
Over its curve are dots,
some white, some black.
CYGNUS
BIRDS
A NEW MOON
due to sliver into midnight.
The leaves fade,
the star wheel nears,
and dark houses