Published in Mountain Talking, Fall, 2016 and Sage Green Journal
It is a beautiful thing to wake
in the dark chill of October
and go out into it
where a crescent moon
and two stars appear both ahead
and in the rear view mirror
before you even leave home
to sit on the floor with it
kneecap to kneecap
inhaling the dark clarinet
of your body
only the breath of the tires
the train’s long choo-choo
searching in the rubble of itself
your pounding throat, a bratty knee
a molecule of coffee still clinging
to the root of your tongue
your eyelids lower now
and in front of you wrapped shoulders
of a robe folded with her empty hands
that her, that you, that teacher
with the one word lesson