moon nectar
slows me to a gentle song
stirring the pinestraw in my bath
a cool water constellation
rippling triumphantly at dawn
yes at dawn the hunter eats moss
and dims himself
dims the snake's breath
dancing on mountains behind the sun
now the foundlings of magick
with stone-tipped beaks
and lunches still warm in sacks
ripen along the reaching path
their bushy wisps and
fragrant trolling
chant in the rhythm
of pine pine pine
at dawn I am sleeping
hunting slow and clean
I am finding earth
emerging from its own wilderness
my foot slips
and I am comforted by falling
arrows of precious heat
scattering across time
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