Wolf Moon

Freezing in the gray light, the wind
at our backs like an anchor,
our boat steadies itself against the moon
and the captain’s hand. We tack across the sound
where the scallops are hidden.

We’ve prepared the nets again, patched
and mended our traps,
coiled the thick, sea—green ropes.
Our tongues are still raw from coffee.
We watch the wolf moon, still red,

fade in the growing light.
The thrum of blood and motion
keeps us from hearing the whine
of the engines. The ocean—soaked planks
beneath our feet are brown and smooth

and shiver like a spine.
We wait for the sun to balance
on the horizon before casting our nets
where the flying fish land without a sound.

Reconciliation

In the moment before
the world ceases
to be dream,
that moment
when all worlds
wake in absence,
the sun is a confession
of suns swelled out overripe,
a thousand times
lost in its own blind light,
in that quiet faith,
that unthinkable desire
in that thinkable light,
it is always there
that I find you:
in the warmth of an image
on a pillow which wakes,
waking what light
lies around you.

 

The author lives in Baltimore City where he volunteers with the Maryland Book Bank, acts as the Archivist-at-large for a Jesuit college, and is the Official poet-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub and Restaurant. He’s the author of The Stars Undone (Duende Press). His poems have appeared in River Poet’s Journal, Southern Review, Little Patuxent Review, Loch Raven Review, Adelaide, Slush Pile, and Elsewhere. Yes, there is a magazine named Elsewhere.