Upturn

I bring you a mouth of lake water,
a hand of hopped frogs and
raspberry stems

birdless feathers and snakeless skins, 
ends of tallow candles

The moon is always looking for
its crescendo,

we grow shadows
by our own light

and by my own light, I bring you
words worth leaving

in stovepipes, windows,
any town's edge

If we hibernate 
our heartbeats will slow and 
the room will darken and it will be
as though we flew from here

without reappearing

© Rachael Simpson