Collage by Rebecca K. Brown
What if the moon’s a huntress
just like me,
scavenging the shoreline with her aching tides,
looking under overturned stones
for just the right words?
What if the moon’s relentless
just like me,
a voice behind clouds that move like herons,
great outstretched wings etched
against the inkiness of night?
What if the moon’s a storyteller
just like me,
her feathery aura vibrating word onto page
in a silence broken by autumn crickets
and the trespass of drying leaves?
Smoky Quartz 