So the moon reaps
brushing the cornfields
gazing low at you and me.
remember, I tell you it does.
When I was a kid
I asked myself why
I couldn’t feel the earth swirling around
so fast as it fled the space who made it.
Sweet smell of baby grass growing
on the riverbank, a bed of gravel
goes squish up between my toes.
Mourning dove happens to call from forest.
Repair my memory, it’s too slick, slippery
brilliant blue midnight sky
Speed up gravity
at the end of my heartstring.
(if I don’t say it’s by someone else, it’s by me….!)