Room Outdoors

Returning from high walls
          where we knew no peace,
we enter the dark field.

Night leans in and holds
          our shoulders with such gentleness
we shiver awake.

Beneath the belly of a bear,
the warrior’s belt, eyes
          slaked on the scaffolding

          (which is no scaffolding)
of impartial stars, we are
          recalibrated – significant

and inconsequential as pine cones
          in the plantation
the crescent moon

          blinks and weeps over.
Isn’t this where we must dwell,
this looking: eyes naked,

short-sighted; hearts open
          to skylines we didn’t choose.

Posted: Sun 2 Dec, 2018