Speaking stones
The inscriptions bleed tonight
letters moving right to left
forcing the darkness between to glow
where the mark of a stone chisel
catches the edge of a star.
Howling
A pattern of ice on the eyelids
it’s hard to see any farther
than the swaying hemlock
the night is matte black
charcoal powdered
you’re singing again
somewhere far out
beyond the window
where the northwest wind
pulls down the sun
After the books are closed
Stretching the air before night
and the stars crackle and spit
a child wanders through the woods
his hands fern-feathered and sure
there are no pelicans here nor tigers
he’s looking for something else
something that can’t be discovered in the day
it’s caught in his hair now
filaments of salt-light
and the thin long strands of a dolphin’s dream.
Bionote
Andrea Moorhead, editor of Osiris and author of several collections of poems, including The Carver’s Dream (Red Dragonfly Press) and À l’ombre de ta voix (Le Noroît). Translations include Dark Menagerie by Élise Turcotte (Guernica Editions). The Autumn 2018 issue of The Bitter Oleander features her work. She received the Prix international de poésie Antonio Viccaro 2018.
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