Dark Days

The sky is dark today

darker than last night’s moon shadows.

We admired the Beaver’s Moon

embraced by the branches of the tall pine

as we sat in red chairs round the fire

speaking of policies, politics and pie.

I wondered if the beavers would come to claim it,

gnawing at the pine to pull it down 

I imagine the rumble as the moon and tree 

hit the forrest floor a sound

to crawl up my feet, vibrate my spine

like the echo of thunder rolling down the mountain.

For minutes echoing through the valley 

only muted by Crocket’s warning bark.

The rain strikes the roof like the arrows of Agincourt

I hide in the bathroom with it’s perpetual cobalt

a spring sky promising better days ahead. 

Crocket pads in on leonine feet as I cower 

his yellow eyes looking wild not with fear,

but rather the wisdom and pity of Koko

living among us, learning our language,

teaching us how to love and to be.