Twilight

painting by Edward Hopper, 1947.

twilight

Is it hares
or do rabbits dance
after the sun sets
in a peeved lilac bowl?

Is it written in some shepherd's almanac
or in the creases of a woodsman's hand?

Who holds the secret
that brings the bucolic vamp
infant and ancient

to swagger her spell
from the curve of her neck
hot, humming
like a boiling samovar?

Two long fingers twist high in a vee
strong with branches for many birds

she signals bats to circle
swifts to weave tribal high
in tribute above cattails
dame's rocket

before spitting out the bruised sky
chewed and swallowed



Tess Kincaid
August, 2011

Posted over on her site Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 77

Glenn Buttkus reads this poem to you: