I am moonlight walking,

streaks of mauve interlace
mounds of battleship meringue;
moored on the horizon; the dog
jerks me onto the rippling lake, his
brainpan hot with visions of wild rabbits
We make foot boulders of overfed fish
flapping on their fat sides—
each glassy eye a Ouija pointer
rolling toward the O of the moon.

I am dawnlight lusting
as the snowy egret lifts her flashy tutu,
her anorexic legs trail as she soars
to her next assignation—
I stand lake-locked in longing—
my wary eyes on swarming crows
in oily battalions, screeching
their baudy irreverences
as my ankles sink in mud.
and the dog barks
and barks.

—Beverly A. Jackson

Return to Archive