I have been under
an oak
before, washed in
firelight
as lovers crooned
their way to
pickup beds
and back seats,
I have been
between sheets
that smelled
of smoke and hunger,
awoken to the rush
of light, the red
of cardinals in
summertime.
I have felt halos
of apple-blossoms
cool in quarter-
moonlight thin as
a moth’s wing at
the edge of my breath,
but tonight,
loneliness hulls in the bone,
stars cause
a fissure in clouds
and I can almost see
the cricket calls
as they fade
at the tops of
blackened pine needles.
